


Where The Falcons Fly

by MyNameIsThunder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood and Injury, Eventual Fluff, Healer Draco Malfoy, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Hogwarts, Power Couple, Quidditch, Scars, Secret Relationship, Seeker Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Whump, accidental magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 90
Words: 283,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyNameIsThunder/pseuds/MyNameIsThunder
Summary: Where the Falcons fly, there’s blood. Where Draco goes, there usually is too. That’s his job, after all – heal morons and the people who get in their way. He could deal with that, he thinks, if only there wasn’t Harry fucking Potter, Seeker, who gets injured a lot even by the Falcons’ standards and seems to have made a habit of inserting himself in Draco’s private life. Draco just wants to heal people – normal people, that is – and do his research in peace. Well, when does he ever get what he wants?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2027
Kudos: 1980





	1. A Little Party Never Killed Nobody [Sunday, August 1st 2004]

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my first work in English and took me almost two years to write, but now it's finally finished!  
> Chapters will be posted ~~regularly on Tuesdays and Fridays~~ daily and will vary heavily in size because I decided to only cover one day per chapter. I may post additional chapters if a chapter is way too small. The entire length of this work is roughly ~~245,000~~ ~~255,000~~ ~~260,000~~ 280,000 words.  
> If you can spare a moment, please consider leaving a comment or simply an emoji of your choosing. Thank you!
> 
> June 2020: This fic is currently being translated into Russian [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9470973/24296407).  
> June 2020: Also, the lovely Rionaa is currently making a [Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825166/chapters/60046711) out of this thing! ❤️  
> September 2020: Sadly, the podfic is discontinued at chapter 30 for reasons that are entirely JKR's fault and I totally blame her! 😒
> 
> ✋🏻 **September 2020: I am planning to slim this fic down by a couple thousand words and am looking for a beta to tell me which parts felt irrelevant and to discuss which parts could be cut without hurting the story! If you are interested, please leave a comment so I can get in contact with you.** 🤚🏻
> 
> February 2021: Still looking for a beta!

There were good ways to start a conversation and then there were bad ones.

" _Malfoy?_ Like the Death Eaters?" – _Bad._ Patients usually demanded another Healer after that sentence.

"Hey Draco, there's a guy in bed seven who got his head shrunk." – _Good._ Draco liked those freaky cases.

"Your patient's results came back ..." – _Very bad._ Healers never paused before telling you good news.

"Cortez will be at a conference in Spain for the whole next week." – _Very good._ Life was always easier without the Chief of Healing breathing down his neck.

"I think I killed Harry Potter!" – _The worst._ People generally liked their Harry Potter alive.

Draco whipped around to stare at the head of Blaise Zabini, which had just appeared in his fireplace.

“You what?!” 

Contrary to his expectations, Blaise didn’t appear to be joking. He did, in fact, appear rather panicked, which was a look Draco couldn’t recall ever having seen on him. 

“Pretty sure it’s him! He’s just lying there; I think he hasn’t moved in about an hour! You have to come through, hurry!” 

“You fucking _kill_ someone and wait an hour until you get me?” Draco patted his scrubs to check if his wand was still in its designated front pocket and went through the Floo. To his surprise, Blaise had actually fire-called from his home. 

“You kill a Potter look-alike and take him to your house? What were you thinking?” 

Blaise had already grabbed his arm and was dragging him towards his bedroom. Draco wondered if he had ever smelled a dead body. Probably not, or he wouldn’t have stowed it there. 

“He doesn’t just _look_ like him, it _is_ him,” Blaise whispered as he opened his bedroom door warily.

Draco peeked inside eagerly. There on the bed lay a man with wild, curly hair and tan skin. His face was buried in a pillow, the bedsheet loosely bundled beneath his almost naked body. Draco didn’t have to see his face to know it was Potter. Apart from the fact that nobody else had hair that stupid, the rising sun clearly illuminated the massive purple bruise that spanned half of Potter’s torso where Draco had healed two broken ribs just two days ago. 

“Fucking hell, Potter is in your bed. Naked! What the _fuck_ , Blaise?” Draco hissed.

“I didn’t know it was _him_ ,” whispered Blaise desperately. “He only turned back into himself a few minutes ago. That’s why I decided to get you.”

With a flick of his wand, Potter was lifted up and flopped back down, now face-up. Neither did Blaise react to his question nor did Potter protest to being manhandled like this. 

“Well he’s definitely not asleep. What did you do to him?” Draco asked, sitting down on the edge of Blaise’s bed. 

“Sooky knocked him out. It wasn’t even my fault, I swear! At first, I thought he was just unconscious, so we put him here. But it’s been over an _hour_ now. Please tell me I didn’t kill Harry Potter. On his own national holiday. That would be, like, the _worst_ timing.” 

“What could _Potter_ possibly have done to your house-elf? Threaten to free her somehow? _Rennervate!_ ” 

And then Potter was most definitely awake as his fist connected painfully with Draco’s face. Draco didn’t even have time to react before Potter grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him face down into the mattress, his wand-arm twisted behind his back and Potter’s weight on him. 

“What do you want –?” Potter growled in his ear. “ _Malfoy?_ ”

“Great, you’re alive,” Draco wheezed.

Potter seemed to decide that he didn’t pose a threat and let go of him, standing up and looking around. Blaise took a step forward from his place at the door, where he had stayed to watch the whole spectacle unfold like the useless git he was. Now that he wasn’t facing the prospect of becoming Britain’s most hated wizard alive, he seemed to be his usual overconfident self again. 

“Harry, nice of you to join us! Anything I can offer you? Breakfast, coffee? Some clothes perhaps? Also, Happy Belated Birthday!” 

“Er – that’s alright, I’ll just take my wand and leave, thanks,” Potter replied, looking slightly dazed. His hair, which was longer on top and usually styled forward to hide his scar under an abundance of curls, was all over the place.

“You will sit your arse right back down and let me examine you properly. Blaise, you can go get his stuff,” Draco commanded, pushing Blaise through the door before slamming it shut. “And you’d better knock before coming back in!” 

“Well this is awkward,” Potter said, already back on the bed. His hair was even more of a mess than it had already been, probably because he kept running a hand through it.

“Being naked in Blaise’s bed or getting your arse handed to you by a house-elf? Or maybe you are referring to the fact that I _specifically_ told you to treat your bruise with essence of arnica twice a day and judging by that,” Draco gestured at the whole of Potter’s torso, “you clearly disregarded my medical advice?”

“I don’t like the smell of it,” Potter lifted his chin defiantly. “And you are not the boss of me.” 

“Thank fuck for that,” Draco said, beginning his examination. “I can’t even imagine how you managed not to die this far. It certainly wasn’t for a lack of trying.” 

For once, Potter didn’t seem to have a response. He just fumbled with the waistband of his pants (red – of course) and mumbled, “I’m not naked.”

Draco finished his diagnostic spells in silence. As it turned out, the Boy Who Lived would live on. When Blaise came back (knocking first like Draco had told him to, because at least one person in this room wasn’t a giant prick and still followed his instructions – sometimes), Potter took his clothes and wand, got dressed in a hurry and was out the front door about two minutes later, Disapparating not three feet from the threshold just as Blaise, ever looking for a business opportunity, called after him, “Hit me up if you ever need a decent broom!” 

Draco promptly turned to Blaise, a gleeful look on his face. 

“You owe me big time. And by that, I mean a first-hand account of everything that happened last night. Into the sitting room!” 

Blaise sighed, but led Draco into the sitting room regardless. “You’re a menace. _Incredibly_ rude and intrusive. I don’t know why I put up with you, honestly.” 

“Shut up, just concentrate on Potter,” Draco aimed his wand at Blaise’s face. “ _Legilimens!_ ” 

Blaise’s face vanished before his eyes and was replaced by flashes of his memory. He was in a dark club. Colourful orbs were dancing through the air while dozens of wizards and witches were dancing with each other. On a stage up front, a Weird Sisters cover band was playing their latest hit ‘ _Fiendfyre inside’_.

Through Blaise’s eyes Draco looked around and realised he had definitely gone to last night’s underground Poly-Party. And then, without further notice, Blaise was snogging a handsome young man with short blond hair who looked exactly like at least forty of the other wizards present in that club. He was also wearing the same outfit _Potter_ had just put on.

The scenery changed and they were kissing in a dark alley, hands wandering. Then they Apparated directly into the same sitting room Draco and Blaise were currently occupying, where the fireplace instantly came to life, casting a soft, warm light upon them. Clothes went flying as Blaise and the man he was suspecting to be Potter went at it again, landing on top of each other on the sofa.

This seemed to be the limit of Blaise’s exhibitionistic tendencies, because there the scene ended abruptly and was replaced by the image of Poly-Potter putting on his pants, back turned on Blaise, who appeared to be just opening his eyes again. Draco guessed that he’d fallen asleep.

Blaise got up slowly while Poly-Potter picked up his jeans. He must’ve been somewhat absent-minded, because he flinched massively when Blaise put a hand on his arm. He twisted with considerable speed and slammed Blaise against the wall with an arm against his throat and a hand around his wrist.

“Who are you? Are you with _them_?” he demanded roughly, a wild look on his face.

“Blaise Zabini,” he answered feebly, trying to pry away the arm at his throat with his free hand. “And I have no idea who _they_ are, but this is _my_ house, so take your bloody hands off me! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“No!” another voice squeaked from farther away. “Sooky cannot let the stranger hurt Master Blaise!”

What followed were a loud _bang_ and all the lamps coming to life at once as Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, was flung across the room, hit the far wall and instantly went down like a flubberworm. Draco didn’t know what exactly was _in_ elf magic, but it seemed powerful. Potter’s crash against the wall seemed to generate a small pressure wave that rustled the curtains.

Having seen enough, Draco lowered his wand to lift the spell.

“Do you have any idea how much this memory would go for if Potter hadn’t been polyjuiced? Provided you weren’t such a prude and would actually share the whole experience,” Draco said gleefully.

“You think there are people who would be willing to pay a few thousand galleons for a Pensieve … just for _porn_?” Blaise asked, still a little shaky from the unpleasant sensation of having had his mind invaded just seconds ago.

“I’m certain. You should turn your back on the broom business and focus on Saviour Porn instead,” Draco said. “That being said, did we know Potter fancies men?” 

Now Blaise started to grin. “Well, the _Prophet_ clearly doesn’t. They have been awfully quiet about his dating life since the whole debacle with that Muggle girlfriend of his last year,” Blaise answered thoughtfully.

If anybody knew about the love lives of Britain’s celebrities, it was Blaise Zabini, gossip monger extraordinaire. 

“Could be because they’re a tad afraid of him now, don’t you think? He _did_ shrink the editor-in-chief’s head to the size of a pygmy puff after that article. I was on casualty spell reversal that day, took us almost the whole morning to re-inflate Cuffe. It was _brilliant_.” 

“Now that’s a memory I would pay for”, Blaise said. “I just can’t imagine they will keep still much longer. Potter is their cash cow. His face on the front page sells twice as many copies as Shacklebolt’s and Celestina Warbeck’s combined.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. He’d probably never understand what people saw in Potter. Yes, there was that whole saving-their-lives business, but still. Their obsession with him was bordering on ridiculous.

“Well, it’s not like he doesn’t benefit from that. I’d imagine his merchandise sells like crazy. And if Healer Dayal is to be believed, the Falcons’ matches are always sold out, even the friendlies,” Draco said.

He got up from the sofa then, and not at all because apparently, just a few hours ago, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor had shagged there, which he still had trouble accepting. Of course, they had almost killed each other shortly thereafter and _that_ was something he could easily believe.

“Anyway, I’m going back home. Aurelius was already waiting for his breakfast when I left and I’m afraid he will raid my cupboards if I take any longer. He was alone for the last twenty hours – St. Mungo’s was all wands on deck yesterday. You wouldn’t believe the weird shit people get up to on ‘ _Potter Day’_.” Draco made quotation marks with his hands.

Blaise followed him to the door. “That bad?”

“You have _no_ idea. You’d think it was a crime to stay inside and act like a sane person on his birthday. Maybe they get it from him. _You_ certainly did. Get it from him, I mean.” Draco gave him a very pointed look. “And I _told_ you not to go to that party. You don’t even know who brews that Polyjuice or where they get the hair. If it even _is_ hair they use. And you _definitely_ don’t know who goes there. Crazy axe murderers. Filch too, probably.”

They both shuddered at that thought. 

“Thank you very much for that disturbing thought.” Blaise didn’t look very thankful. “Though I doubt he could afford the admittance fee. Unless he sells his hair to the organisers. That’s where they get it from, Squibs – well, only the fit ones, obviously. So yesterday was a charity event, really.”

Blaise looked rather pleased with this discovery.

“There don’t seem to be that many fit Squibs then, I only saw the same few faces on everyone,” Draco replied. 

“It’s kind of a rotating system. I think they’ve got like a hundred samples and each month you can choose between ten of them. Who you choose indicates your preferences. There’s one for straight witches, gay wizards and so on. Makes it rather easy to find someone to take home with you.” 

“And Potter –?“ Draco began, eager to know what Potter preferred. Not that he was interested. Just for … _science_.

“Bisexual.” Blaise didn’t even let him finish.

Draco pondered this for a second and then asked, “So … how do you know you’re not snogging a relative?”

Blaise hesitated before answering, “You … don’t. Poly-Parties are underground for a reason.” 

“Well, I guess that’s not something Potter has to worry about,” Draco finally said.

Who would have thought there was an upside to being the last living member of your family? 


	2. Bad Behaviour [Tuesday, August 3rd 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you know? It's really, really hard to sit on a fic that's all done. ~~I'll still keep the set dates (Tuesday/Friday), but will post additional chapters whenever I can't wait any longer.~~ Yeah, I'm posting daily now!
> 
> So here's the next one!
> 
> A big thanks to serilla and AlluraBelle for the comments! They definitely made me post this sooner. :)

Draco loved the summer holidays. With the students home from school, there were _so_ many broken bones to fix and cuts to heal, often made worse by the parents' futile attempts at mending them themselves.

Just now, he was looking at the effects of a botched home-brewed love potion, the self-assigned summer project of three giggling sixteen-year-old witches. They had apparently tried to test it on their neighbour, who was now emitting pink fumes from his mouth and nostrils while humming Celestina Warbeck's greatest (which was to say _worst_ ) hits. 

Strictly speaking, this was a case for the Potions Ward. But since this happened on such a regular basis and the cure was fairly easy, Trauma usually just handled these cases too. Easier than listening to the Potions people bitch about the transfers.

“I'm assuming you _didn't_ break the _Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery_ by doing the separating spells for the potion yourselves?” Draco asked casually while making a note on his clipboard. 

“Er – no, right. We didn't, of course,” one of them answered while the other two exchanged nervous glances. 

“He's of age,” Draco said, indicating the young, handsome man in the hospital bed. “Maybe he assisted you? A group project, perhaps?” he offered. 

All three of them were nodding profusely. 

“You do know, of course, that the effects of a love potion are not permanent?” he asked, “And that it's a crime to exploit the… erm… _willing_ test subject while they're under the effect, or to erase their memories when they come to their senses and regain their true feelings?” 

The witches had gone very pale. 

“We would _never_ ,” one of them whispered hoarsely. 

“Splendid!” Draco exclaimed, “I really wouldn't want to report you and get you expelled from school. Not fun at all.” 

They were definitely not giggling anymore, but looked rather subdued now. Draco summoned the antidote from a supply closet down the hall and was able to discharge the confused young wizard five minutes later. 

He looked at his chart, which was bewitched with a Protean Charm and linked to the front desk. His next assignment was another Quidditch mishap, which seemed to make up half of his cases every summer since he had started medical training five years ago. Those were always fairly easy to fix, since there was rarely any magic involved – provided there hadn't been a well-meaning amateur Healer present. 

“Training to get on your house team next term?” Draco guessed as he stepped around the curtain separating him from his next patient. 

“Er – no,” said Potter, sitting on the bed in what appeared to be joggers and a short-sleeved t-shirt. Not exactly his Quidditch get-up. 

Draco, who had not expected to see him again _that_ soon, took another look at his chart. Yup, there he was. _Bed No. 5. H. J. Potter, wizard, age 24._

“Don't tell me you got injured in bed – again,” Draco said, eyeing his right arm, which was completely black and blue. 

“Will you _shut up?_ ” Potter was looking at the curtain suspiciously, as if he wasn't sure who could be lurking behind it. “It says Quidditch on your chart, doesn't it? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the Prophet already _?_ ” 

“Could be a cover, no? And I try to keep away from that rag. You should too.” Draco motioned at Potter's torso. “Let's see it, then. Lose the t-shirt.” 

“Can't,” Potter grumbled, “Why do you think I'm still in my pyjamas? This is as far as it will go,” he added, lifting his battered arm a few inches. 

Draco drew his wand, making slow, deliberate moves. The first time he had treated Potter, five years and what felt like at least a thousand injuries ago, the stupid git had petrified him for drawing his wand unannounced. Nowadays, Potter barely even flinched, but it was always better not to take chances with him. 

When Potter's t-shirt was vanished (“Hey, that was my favourite, you tosser!”), Draco got a good look at the whole extent of his injuries. 

“What did you do – get hit by both Bludgers at once? Maybe the Quaffle too?” 

“I got hit by McCarthy, who got hit by a Bludger, that stupid hag. Wouldn't have happened if she had just dodged. Probably did it on purpose,” Potter grumbled, brushing away some hair that had gone astray.

Draco honestly didn’t know why he even bothered. But he _did_ recall having heard that Felicity McCarthy, the Falcons’ Reserve Seeker, had come in with a concussion the day before. 

“Yes, I'm sure you're completely without fault here,” Draco agreed sarcastically and pressed his hand against Potter's ribcage, causing him to spout a long list of obscenities. 

“Fuck, what did you do that for?” he snarled finally. 

“To see if it hurts.” 

“I could have bloody told you, you wanker!” 

“You should've come here directly instead of sleeping on it first. Do you really have zero self-preservation instincts?” 

“Well it didn't hurt that much yesterday,” Potter tried to vindicate. “And I put your stupid essence of Angela on it, but it obviously doesn't do shit.” 

“ _Arnica_ doesn't mend bones, you flipping idiot,” Draco replied. “I told you to be at least a little bit careful, didn't I? I remember it vividly. _'Potter,'_ I said, _'do try to keep away from Bludgers. Freshly healed bones re-break easily.'_ Those were my words!” 

“And I just told _you_ , _I_ didn’t get hit by a Bludger! Why is it that every time I see you, I’m having the worst time?”

“Perks of being a healer”

“Is there _no one_ else working here? Where's Dayal?” 

“Well, I could fetch Lockhart for you if you insist. I seem to recall he does have first-hand experience at tending to your broken bones.” 

“I hate you.” Potter looked about ready to murder him. Draco was enjoying himself immensely. 

“No, you don’t,” he said, aiming his wand at Potter's ribs. “ _Costas emendo!”_

He waited for the crunching noise and Potter's inevitable expletives before adding, “Two days bed-rest, apply essence of arnica every three hours. I _would_ keep you here for the night, but let’s face it – you’d just bail as soon as I turn my back. _Again_.” 

He looked at Potter reproachfully, but the bastard didn’t even have the good grace to look ashamed and just shrugged in agreement. 

“Also, I'm banning you from Quidditch for a week,” Draco added. 

“ _WHAT?_ ” Potter was on his feet in an instant. “We've got a match in three weeks! I can't miss that much practice!” 

“It's just a friendly, that doesn't even count,” Draco replied cooly and took out his Quick-Quotes Quill.

Blaise had already invited Draco (who didn’t follow Quidditch at all anymore) to that particular match. He had gotten the tickets from Potter himself, who had come by Zabroomi’s first thing Monday morning and let himself be talked into test-flying the prototype of Blaise’s newest broom. Since the teams had to fly their official racing brooms at league matches, Blaise had apparently inclined Potter to demonstrate the Lightning Blast at the friendly match against the Tutshill Tornados. 

“What's that got to do with anything?” Potter said, watching the quill suspiciously. “Don't you _dare_ write that down!” 

“He that will not hear must feel,” Draco replied, nodding at the quill, which began to fly over the chart (much to Potter’s protest). 

“An owl will be sent to Matthew Greyson,” Draco said and turned on his heels.

He definitely could not rely on Potter to deliver this note to his coach himself. Draco expertly dodged Potter's jinx (which burned a scorch mark into the curtain) and left him there to sulk in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving a comment if you have time. Thank you!


	3. An Open Relationship with Death [Sunday, August 22nd 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished proof-reading this chapter for the final time. So here it is, I guess.

The morning of August 22nd was a bleary one, though the week leading up to this Sunday had been warm and sunny. Draco had very much wanted to sleep in and then spend a lazy day with Aurelius, cuddling on the couch, going for a walk, just the two of them. Wasn't his life already hectic enough? 

Why did he have to agree when Blaise came around, brandishing two tickets – Tutshill Tornados vs. Falmouth Falcons – as if they were made of pure gold (which they might as well have been, considering how sought after they were)? Blaise had also promised Draco he could test the prototype of his newest invention. The Memoriculars were a type of Omnioculars that could store scenes up to two hours inside a built-in vial. You could later empty the vial into your Pensieve (provided you were wealthy enough to possess one) and store the memory there permanently. It could also be watched at any desired speed. 

Draco had kept to his principles and continued to boycott the Prophet, but he couldn’t escape his colleagues or patients, who seemed to have nothing in mind but Quidditch, even the one who had just lost his arm to an ill-placed vanishing spell. Maybe _that_ was the reason he had gotten roped into this so easily. 

Heavy rain was drumming on the canopy of the Falcons’ stands. Around them, Matthew Greyson had cast a strong Impervius along with a mild warming charm. Draco felt more than a little out of place next to the Falcons’ coach, some of their reserve players and the team’s friends and family. He didn’t even know where the Falcons ranked this season.

He had not seen Potter play since their time at Hogwarts and he had to admit that he was more than just a little curious. Having seen Potter’s health record, he almost couldn’t imagine Potter had gotten any better. Strictly speaking, all of the Falcons had abnormally large files, which, in his opinion, was not exactly a testament to their flying abilities. 

“So – who did you have to kill to get seats in the Falcons’ own team stands?” Draco asked Blaise. 

Blaise was grinning broadly at him. “As you know, I only had to _almost_ kill someone. This is all part of our little bargain. I also tipped off my friend Andrew Cole. He’s editor in chief at _Which Broomstick_. You can’t buy this kind of publicity.” 

Blaise pointed at the stands directly across from them. Draco took up his Memoriculars and zoomed in on a young and rather handsome wizard – no wonder Blaise was friends with him. He had a habit of surrounding himself with good-looking people. Next to Andrew Cole sat a wizard who was very obviously the Quidditch correspondent at the Daily Prophet _._ And next to him was –

“Welcome to today’s friendly match. The Falmouth Falcons are hosting the Tutshill Tornados and I have to say, this almost feels like a league match to me. Both teams are employing their strongest line-up,” the voice of Ludo Bagman filled the arena. 

“Since when is _he_ back in Quidditch?” Draco asked incredulously. 

“You really need to read the paper again, darling,” Blaise answered. “Bagman was granted remission. He completed therapy and works with gambling addicts now. A reformed wizard, as it were.” 

The girl sitting next to Draco gave a snort.

“ _As if_ ,” she muttered to herself. When he looked at her, she was rolling her eyes and throwing her long dyed-red hair over one shoulder. “People don’t change,” she said and Draco could have sworn her eyes flitted to his left arm. 

“And here they are – Haynes, Robinson, Mason, Armstrong, Montgomery, Mills, Potter! Give it up for the Falmouth Falcons!” Bagman announced and the crowd went wild. Draco couldn’t help but applaud as well. Peer pressure and all that. 

“And now a warm welcome to our guests – Sheppard, Wells, Payne, Hewitt, Pritchett, Wilkins, McCarthy! The Tutshill Tornados!” 

The following welcome wasn’t exactly what Draco would have called warm. It was clear whom the majority of the spectators were here to see. The players filed into the arena, circling the pitch one time and then forming a circle, the Tornados on one side and the Falcons on the other. Both Seekers were hovering a few feet above their Keepers, Potter in his robes of grey and white and opposite him Timothy McCarthy (brother to Felicity McCarthy), whose robes were already soaked so much they seemed midnight blue rather than sky-blue. McCarthy was staring daggers at Potter, who was smirking back at him provocatively. 

Draco knew both McCarthy siblings from his time at Hogwarts. Timothy had been the Slytherin prefect during Draco’s first year and fiercely protective of his sister, who had been sorted into Slytherin at the start of Draco’s third year. Draco rather feared for Potter’s safety. McCarthy was clearly out for blood, probably blaming Potter for his sister’s concussion three weeks ago. 

The Quaffle was released and McCarthy was on Potter’s heels immediately. His strategy seemed to consist of following Potter everywhere and occasionally blocking his path when he tried to make a turn. Potter was growing more and more irritated. When McCarthy got in his way yet again, Potter rammed him hard and then promptly did half a looping, putting some distance between the two of them, just as Easton Haynes shot a Bludger at the rival Seeker. McCarthy barely managed to swerve in time and seemed content to keep his distance after that. 

Draco soon realised the Falcons knew _exactly_ what they were doing. Their rapidly growing medical files seemed to stem from their total disregard for their own safety in favour of winning the match rather than an inability to fly. They were absolutely willing to accept a broken arm if it meant bagging a goal. They were, in short, a perfect fit for Potter. 

The match was fast-paced and relentless, and after half an hour the Falcons were leading by ninety points. Phaedra Armstrong had taken a Quaffle to the face, which had probably broken her nose, but she didn’t even ask for a timeout to let Dayal (who was the St. Mungo’s Healer permanently assigned to cover the Falcons’ matches) heal it. Maybe she didn’t want to give the (by now exhausted) Tornados a chance to catch their breath. 

And then, there was the Snitch. Potter had seen it too – he was speeding up rapidly, shooting past McCarty, who was caught completely by surprise. There was just no way he could catch up to Potter in time. But suddenly, there were the Tornados’ Beaters, blocking his way to the Snitch, their shoulders almost touching. Potter would have to swerve, losing valuable time. Only he didn’t – Potter flattened himself on his broom, rotating in a kind of corkscrew motion. There was a loud bang and Potter was just a silver blur, cannonballing through the tiny gap between the Tornados, knocking both of them nearly off their brooms. Their drenched capes were flapping behind them furiously. 

“Yes!” Blaise exclaimed, jumping off his seat and throwing his hands in the air triumphantly. “I love that boy! This is gold!” 

Draco assumed this was dedicated to the Lightning Blast rather than Potter himself. He grabbed the Memoriculars and zoomed in on Potter. He had to adjust the replay-speed three times before he was even able to follow Potter's movements. Potter was stretching for the Snitch now, straining massively against the wind and rain, pure bliss showing on his face. The Snitch was already touching his fingers – 

“NO!” the redhead beside him screamed. 

“Harry! No!” 

“Somebody catch him!” Bagman boomed. 

Draco dropped the Memoriculars. Everywhere around the stands people jumped to their feet, screaming and pointing at the same thing – Potter, who had apparently fallen off his broomstick somehow and was now plummeting rapidly. The Falcons acted almost as one, dropping their bats and the Quaffle, and speeding toward their Seeker, but none of them were close enough when it happened and Draco knew they wouldn't get there in time. 

Suddenly there was the Tornados' Keeper, coming in from the side and making a grab for Potter. She caught his robe and for a split-second Draco thought she had him, but then the fabric of his robes gave way and all Wilkins was holding in her hands was the torn dark-grey cape.

Draco could only watch in horror as Potter fell the last twenty feet and hit the ground next to the Tornados' left goal post. The impact should have made a sound, but they were too far up and the rain was too loud on the canopy. 

For a second nobody moved while all eyes were on Potter, who was lying in the mud, motionless. His legs were twisted at an odd angle, both definitely broken. Draco pushed the girl aside and grabbed Greyson's arm. 

“You have to disassemble the wards, now!” he urged the coach. 

He looked down and saw Dayal already dropping to the ground beside Potter, feeling for his carotid artery. The players were landing beside him now, yelling across each other, clearly hysterical. Dayal pointed his wand at Potter and did a motion Draco was far too acquainted to. He didn't have to hear him say the incantation to know what it meant. 

Greyson was pointing his wand at the sky now and he felt something like a weight lift from his shoulders. Draco grabbed Blaise, whose dark skin had turned ashen. “Go to Mungo’s and tell them we're coming in with an emergency. Tell them it's Potter, hopefully successfully resuscitated. They need to prepare for surgery. Tell them to call in Meadows.” 

Blaise was looking at him blankly, so he slapped him across the face, hard. “GO!” 

Draco didn't wait to see if Blaise did as he was told. He had already Apparated next to Dayal, who looked up at him, panic written across his face, and shook his head just ever so slightly. 

“Together, come on,” Draco said and he took Potters wrist in his hand and pointed his own wand at Potter's broken body. “ _Rennervate!_ ” 

The wind was still howling around them, whipping cold, hard rain across their faces, but Draco didn't feel it. The only thing he felt was Potter's cold, lifeless wrist. And then there was something tapping against his fingers, barely palpable. Draco cast a stasis spell on Potter to prevent the possible damages their imminent jump could cause.

“Let's go,” he said, grabbing Dayal’s arm, and he Apparated the three of them to St. Mungo’s. 

It was mayhem. Draco had worked every single official holiday for the last five years and he had never seen the place in such disarray. Healers were running around frantically, trying to keep out the masses that had apparently Apparated to St. Mungo’s as soon as the wards around the pitch had been lifted, probably to await Potter's arrival or maybe to get help. 

Meadows, Head of Trauma Healing, was already there and spotted them immediately, landing on their hands and knees and splattering mud everywhere. He floated Potter onto a stretcher and beckoned Dayal and Draco to follow. Together they crossed the repulsion line that separated the entrance from the treatment area. When Draco looked back, there was a bright red spot on the floor where Potter had been. 

“Report?” Meadows asked, looking at Dayal, who had, after all, been officially assigned by St. Mungo’s to cover the game. 

“I – I don’t – what the hell happened?” Dayal whispered incredulously. 

“He fell of his broom,” Draco took over. “He was approximately thirty feet up when he first fell and probably already unconscious then. He was halted circa twenty feet from the ground and then fell the rest unchecked. No vital signs on first contact, unresponsive to first revival, faint pulse after second joint resuscitation. Head lac and multiple fractures of the legs, arms and ribs.” 

“Alright, Malfoy, scrub in. Dayal, notify emergency contact,” Meadows allotted. 

Draco hurriedly changed into his navy-blue healing scrubs and then entered surgery. A mediwitch had already vanished Potter's clothes, applied the disinfecting spells and put him in a hospital gown. 

Draco took a look at the vital vials on the wall. They were small glass tubes filled with coloured sand and bewitched to react to the patient's vital signs. The red heart-vial was rising and falling steadily, but the blue sand in the tube next to it was ebbing away alarmingly fast. Meadows had finished with the head wound and was now working on reducing the cerebral swelling. 

“Malfoy, take a look inside and tell me what we've got,” Meadows said. 

“ _Corpus Inspicio_ ,” Draco said, casting at his own eyes. He focused on Potter's heart first and the obstructing body-parts vanished before his eyes. 

“Heart intact, looking normal,” he reported and then moved on to the less vital organs. “Right lung punctured. Whole right side of the ribcage fractured. Spinal cord severed. Both legs fractured.” 

“Nash: lung repair. Abrams: bones,” Meadows said without looking up. “Malfoy, get started on the spine. And he’d better have a chance at walking again when you're finished.” 

~o~

It was dark outside when they finally emerged. Repairing a severed spinal cord was tricky business. Draco and Meadows had taken turns, alternating every solid hour so they could regain their strength. The two of them had located every single damaged fibre and magically fused them back together again.

The process was made more complicated by the fact that one had to concentrate very hard on just the damaged parts without altering the parts that were still intact. Only a few years ago, Healers still had to cut the patient open to see where they had to direct their magic. That was easier on the Healer but put considerable strain on the patient, which was why Meadows had invented _Corpus Inspicio_ four years ago. 

Draco sat down on the floor of the locker room, his back against a bench and his head aching fiercely. 

“I'm never getting up again,” he groaned, leaning the back of his head against the seat. 

Meadows was raising his eyebrows at him. “You still need to inform Mr. Potter's next of kin,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Draco scoffed. “I'm probably the very last person they want to see right now. We're not exactly friends.” 

“You brought him in, you spent the last eight hours healing him,” Meadows replied. “That means you are his Primary Healer until he is released.” 

Draco groaned, pushing himself of the ground. “Why do you do this to me?” 

“I'm doing this _for_ you,” Meadows corrected. “Come on, I'll do the talking. You just need to stand there and look professional.” 

~o~

The waiting room was full to bursting. As soon as they entered, a myriad of ginger heads turned to face them. Granger was there too, her tan skin and bushy hair standing out noticeably. She got to her feet instantly, but seemed unable to ask what all of them were dreading. For a second, the whole waiting room was holding its breath. Meadows smiled at them mildly. 

“Mr. Potter is out of the woods,” he said calmly and the relief on their faces was tangible. “His injuries were very severe, but I'm hopeful that we were able to heal all of them. He will stay in a magically induced coma for approximately two weeks to give his brain some time to adjust, but he should be fine. The paraplegia will likely persist for some time after that, but Mr. Malfoy and I were able to fully reconnect the spinal cord and there should be no lasting restrictions.” 

The Weasleys were hugging each other now, some of them laughing in relief. Mrs. Weasley got to her feet and embraced Meadows, sobbing into his shoulder. He endured this patiently, probably used to it by now. She finally released him to wipe away her tears.

And then, out of the blue, she embraced Draco too, blubbering out a “Thank you”.

He stood ramrod straight, unsure what to do. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had given him a hug. But before he had even time to pat her back or something, she had already let go of him again. 

“You may see him now,” said Meadows and they got up as one. 

“Somebody should go down to tell the team,” Granger said hesitantly, but none of them seemed eager to relinquish their chance to see Potter. 

“I'll do it,” Draco volunteered, eager for a chance to get away from this particular awkwardness. 

“Thank you,” Granger said gratefully. “They should be down in the cafeteria. And if Samantha Huxley's there too, would you please tell her to issue a short press release? Just enough to get the Prophet off our backs.” 

This seemed like something he could handle, so he took off with just a nod in her direction. 

When Draco entered the cafeteria, he was blindsided by the sheer number of people present. The Falcons were indeed there, but so were most of their family members who had been in the stands with him. And not just them – the Tutshill Tornados had set up camp as well.

All of the players were still in their Quidditch robes, but at least they had spelled them clean. Both McCarthy siblings were evidently missing. The door snapped shut and all eyes were on him.

He could _not_ handle this. 

”Erm –” he said eloquently. 

The red-head who had made that snide comment earlier clapped her hand over her mouth, looking at him desperately. 

“Oh no – don’t worry, he’s alright!” Draco quickly elaborated. “He’ll pull through …” 

He didn’t exactly know how much Granger wanted him to tell all these people, who were in no way related to Potter (not that _anyone_ was), so he stopped there. 

“You should all go home, he won't be taking any visitors for at least two weeks,” Draco said and immediately they started talking loudly among themselves, probably analysing what that could mean for Potter's health. 

Draco raised his voice, “Is there a Samantha Huxley present?” 

“Yes, yes, that's me!” a petite witch with bright pink hair called out and squeezed past a group of burly wizards. 

“Sam Huxley,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “I'm Harry's manager, personal assistant, spokes witch, whatever you wanna call it.” 

He relayed what Granger had told him and then went to tell Greyson in private that Potter would be out of action for at least two months. The coach did not look happy. 

Draco wanted nothing more than to go home, take a very hot shower and then sleep for the next twenty-four hours, but he still had paperwork to do, so he dragged himself into the staffroom. He forced himself to fill out the accident report in full detail, writing down everything he could remember, and then went on to register every step of the surgery. It was almost midnight when he finally finished with the instructions for Potter's post-operative care.

After briefly checking in on Potter, Draco finally went home. He didn't even make it upstairs but collapsed on the couch and went to sleep instantly. 


	4. Imaginary Enemy [Monday, August 23rd 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there isn't much to do at the moment besides staying in, so I decided to just post this already. It's not that long anyways.  
> A big shout-out to ThatBoringOne, AlluraBelle and Writer_Architect, who wrote really lovely comments. Thank you guys so much!
> 
> Title: The Used - Imaginary Enemy

Draco woke up when something heavy landed on his back, breathing down his neck. 

“No, Lee!” he grumbled. “It's my day off. You don't have to wake me up. Go away!” 

Aurelius jumped down to the floor and then proceeded to lick his cheek repeatedly. “Yes, I know,” Draco sighed and sat up, “I'll go for a walk with you.” 

Aurelius wagged his tail excitedly. In front of the couch, he had placed not one, but three pairs of shoes despite Draco still wearing his hospital trainers. 

The sun was shining down on the suburb of Richmond. Most of his neighbours had already left for work, but Draco had a nice little chat with Mrs. Maloney, who lived a few houses down the street and was pushing her baby girl in a stroller. He invited them back to his place for a cup of tea and she accepted gladly, but as soon as they reached his front door, she suddenly remembered she still had lunch to cook and excused herself. Shame.

Draco went to take a long-desired shower instead, only to discover the water was already running and had been for some time now, as it was cold. He took an icy shower and considered this his punishment for leaving Aurelius alone for that long. 

It was afternoon when he suddenly remembered he had dropped the Memoriculars in the stands. Blaise would probably lose it if Draco told him he’d left the prototype out in the open like that, so he Apparated immediately.

The stadium was deserted, which either meant that the Falcons had already completed their daily training or weren’t practicing the day after a match. Either way, Draco was glad he didn’t have to deal with people. He was _especially_ glad that nobody seemed to have remembered to put the wards up again.

When Draco had finally climbed the stairs all the way to the top, he had a nasty scare at first, as the Memoriculars seemed to have vanished. But then he got down on his hands and knees and there they were. They must have fallen under the front seats when he had dropped them yesterday. 

The metal was a little dented but at least the glass was still intact. Blaise would probably let him live, provided they still worked. He fixed them on a very large eagle owl that was sitting inside the goal hoop in front of which Potter had crashed. But when he pressed the slow-motion button, a tinny voice piped up.

_“Vial full. No further memorisation possible.”_

Instantly curious, Draco pressed the replay button and watched again as Potter stretched for the Snitch in slow-motion. The Snitch was touching his fingertips again – this was as far as he had gotten yesterday. But due to the time lag, the memory went on where Draco had broken off. 

Potter's hand closed around the Snitch, but the sharp acceleration seemed to be too much for the Snitch, which had been almost at a stand-still before. Both wings were ripped off and hit Potter square in the temple. He was out cold instantly, side-slipping and then falling like a stone. Since Draco hadn't been paying attention to what was happening in real-time, the Memoriculars had followed the Lightning Blast's path into the forest instead of Potter, who fell out of view. 

This seemed to be where he had dropped them, because all he could see after that were the feet that had passed his seat now and then. Draco sped up the memory to see if there was more. Nothing happened for a long time and Draco was beginning to think that was it, when a pair of neat, black boots stepped into view, framed by the long, scarlet robes of an Auror. 

Draco went down onto the pitch. If the Aurors had been here, it seemed rather futile, but he pointed his wand toward the forest nonetheless. 

“ _Accio Lightning Blast_!”

Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. The eagle owl gave a hoot and ruffled its feathers. This gave Draco an idea. 

“ _Accio Snitch_ ,” he said. Something broke free off the ground and landed in the palm of his outstretched hand. The golden body of the Snitch was missing, but in his hand he held its parted wings, both completely caked in dried mud and hardly recognisable. 

“Thank you very much for your assistance,” he said to the eagle owl and it cocked its head quizzically. 

~o~

Blaise was not at home when Draco came calling. He let himself in by touching the front door with his wand, but it was completely quiet inside. The sitting room, where Blaise spent most of his free time, was deserted. A half-full cup of tea stood on a little side table, but it was cold to the touch. 

Today's Prophet lay on the couch, on its cover a photograph of Potter, slipping through Wilkins' fingers and hitting the ground. The headline read _‘ZABROOMI'S LIGHTNING BLAST BREAKS SOUND BARRIER AND SAVIOUR'S BACK’_.

Somewhere upstairs, Sooky seemed to be sobbing. Draco’ stomach dropped. This could mean nothing good for Blaise. 

~o~

The Auror Department was abuzz. Sky-blue intradepartmental memos were criss-crossing over their heads, and under a protective bubble in the middle of the room, there was the Lightning Blast. A balding wizard stood inside, his sleeves rolled up, and he was casting what seemed to be diagnostic spells. 

“Malfoy!” someone called across the room and then Weasley was at his side. “Have you come to give your statement?” 

“I'm looking for Blaise Zabini,” he replied coolly. “Is he here?” 

Weasley looked really uncomfortable now. “Yeah ... listen, I know he's probably innocent, but there's nothing I can do.” 

“You know?” Draco asked doubtfully. “How come?” 

“Hermione says Zabini'd have to be really dense to curse one of his own brooms and then give it to Harry,” Weasley said, rubbing his neck. “But you know how people are when it comes to Harry. They want the culprit caught. We have to follow any lead.” 

“Well, in that case, I'm here to give my statement,” Draco said calmly. “And then I'll take Blaise home if you don't mind.” 

“That has to be one hell of a statement, mate.”

Weasley scoffed and led him into his tiny office. They sat down in battered chairs on either side of Weasley's desk. 

“Alright, go for it,” Weasley said, parchment and quill in hand. “But I've already read your accident report, so I'm afraid that won't cut it for your mate Zabini.” 

Draco put the battered Memoriculars on the desk. “I think this will do.” 

Watching Weasley watch the memory was very amusing. He winced and held his breath animatedly and finally put the Memoriculars down. 

“Blimey! I swear to Merlin, one of these days he'll get himself killed and stay dead.” 

“You can keep the memory,” Draco said. He opened a small compartment of the Memoriculars and took out a vial containing a silvery substance that was neither gas nor liquid. 

Weasley took it and got up. “Wait here, I'll get Zabini,” he said and left the office muttering to himself about freak accidents. 

Draco took the time to look around. Weasley's office was exactly how he would have imagined it – messy and crammed. There was not an inch of the wallpaper to be seen, as Weasley had decorated the walls with countless photographs and Quidditch articles. He was evidently supporting the Chudley Cannons and his sister seemed to play Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Maybe _that_ was the reason she and Potter hadn’t worked out.

Many of the photographs showed the three of them – Potter, Weasley and Granger. In some of them they were still really young, squarely in their teenage years, and almost always grinning at the photographer or laughing about something.

Then there was one of Potter, still years younger than he was now, with a small boy in his arms. The child had fair skin but Potter's messy hair and bright green eyes. Draco supposed he would have heard if Potter had a son, but maybe not? Maybe they had kept it a secret to protect it? But then again, he didn't think Weasley would display a picture like this if that were true. 

Draco searched the remaining walls for the child but came off empty-handed. He found another peculiar photograph instead. Granger was at the front, apparently the one who had taken the photograph (which was called a selfie, Mrs. Maloney had told him once). Next to her sat Weasley and Potter, both with champagne glasses in their hands and grinning broadly. But there was an empty space where Potter's other arm was hanging in the air, as if he had put it around somebody who wasn't there anymore. And all three of them were wearing what seemed to be Muggle evening attire. 

Draco was just examining the photographs a second time, this time looking for odd openings, when Weasley stepped inside, bringing Blaise along. Draco got up and handed him the Memoriculars. 

“There you go. Now let's get out of here, before they change their minds.” 

Blaise just nodded, looking just as pale as the last time Draco had seen him, back on the stands. They had only walked a few steps when Weasley called after them. 

“Hey, Malfoy! Thanks … You know, for yesterday. You saved his life, so … thanks.” And then he shut his door quickly, as if unable to look at him any longer.

Draco was still recovering from that quaintness when he got his second hug in as many days, this time from Blaise Zabini, who never hugged anybody if it didn't lead anywhere. 

“You should probably keep as far away from Potter as possible,” Draco said silently on their way out. “It seems your influence isn’t very beneficial to his life expectancy.”

“Also isn’t beneficial to my will to live in freedom,” Blaise muttered shakily. He took a deep breath, which seemed to steady him somewhat. “Good thing there isn’t such a thing as bad press, right?”

Draco strongly disagreed, but he wasn’t going to point that out _now_.


	5. Battle Scars [Friday, August 27th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there was no Harry in the last chapter. I miss him already, so here we go!
> 
> Title: Lupe Fiasco - Battle Scars

Draco was sitting on the window sill in Potter's one-bed room. Strictly speaking, it was a one-bed wing, because Potter had gotten maximum security status. Two employees from Magical Law Enforcement were posted at the entrance to the corridor to ensure Potter's safety, but also to keep out the press and fans. This was standard procedure with high-ranking Ministry officials and celebrities, and apparently Potter numbered among them.

The only ones who were cleared to enter the wing were the Healers assigned to his case and the people Granger granted permission, as Potter had named her his healthcare agent in emergency situations such as this. 

Draco liked to come here in his down-time to read up on medical spells and practice his healing on anatomical preparations. It _wasn’t_ weird. Yes, Potter had a constant stream of visitors, but when visiting hours were finally over, this part of the hospital was far less busy than the staff room or even the on-call room.

And for once in his life, Potter didn't talk back at him. 

Draco studied him over the top of his book. They had folded back his sheets as the day was extraordinarily hot and humid, and Potter wasn't wearing a shirt. Draco got up and traced the familiar oval scar on Potter's chest with his fingertips. It had already been there when Draco had first healed him years ago. He presumed Potter had gotten that one sometime in the war. 

“Burned,” Draco murmured to himself, speculating if maybe it was a souvenir from Potter's _‘Grand Theft Dragon’_ at Gringotts. Whatever he had stolen from there, the Dark Lord had been _very_ unhappy with Draco’s family.

Both of Potter’s arms were resting beside his body, palms up. There was a long, straight scar down his left forearm and Draco felt the same spot on his own arm itch uncomfortably.

“ _Marked_ ,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

Draco looked at Potters right forearm, where two sizeable round scars were hidden. Were those _bite marks_? Draco turned Potter’s hand around and looked at the lettering there. 

“ _I must not tell lies_ ,” he read quietly. 

He knew perfectly well where Potter had acquired that one. He also knew there was another scar on Potter's thigh, but it felt wrong to pull away the blanket and look at him in his pants while he was unconscious and unable to punch Draco in the face. Even if Draco _was_ his Healer. 

And _then_ there was the scar on his forehead, of course.

Draco leaned over him slightly to brush away a lock of hair. He had never really looked at it that much, but now he was interested. When he had read about that scar as a child, it had always been described as a bolt of lightning. And of course he had imagined a stylised shape, three straight strokes. This was more like an upside-down tree without leaves; one short line starting at the hair line and then branching out towards the right eyebrow. Or maybe it _did_ look like a real lightning bolt in the night sky, the almost white scar in stark contrast to his olive skin.

Draco touched it with one fingertip, just barely. It wasn't coarse and rough like the scar on his chest but almost smooth, just slightly raised. “One of a kind,” he whispered. 

Something knocked against the window and Draco pulled his hand away as if burned. Outside, a large eagle owl was flapping its wings.

As far as Draco knew, all owls were being redirected to Potter's assistant, so he was hesitant to open the window. Who _knew_ what crazy spells people could come up with to deliver a curse directly to his sick-bed? But then the owl cocked its head and Draco recognised it as the same owl that had been sitting inside the goal hoop when Draco had found the Memoriculars. This owl had to belong to somebody on the team. Maybe Samantha Huxley had redirected it here?

He opened the window and the owl landed on the armrest of the visitor's chair next to the bed. 

Draco sat down in the chair and detached the get-well card that was tied to the owl's leg. It showed a silver falcon that was catching a Golden Snitch in its talons and then releasing it again. Inside, the whole team had signed their names, even McCarthy (whose signature looked a lot more frenzied than the rest). The card was flapping in his hands as if trying to fly away, something he assumed Potter would find funny. 

“Ouch!” Draco had tried to stroke the owl absentmindedly and it had bitten him. He scowled at it. 

“What did you do that for?” he asked, healing his finger with a tap of his wand. The owl just ruffled its feathers. 

“ _Shoo_! Fly home,” he said, pointing at the open window. The owl made no move to leave, sticking out its leg instead, all the while staring at Potter intently. 

“He can't write back, he's in a coma,” he said, pointing at Potter now. “You'd have to wait here for another week at the very least. Do you really want to hold up your leg for that long?” 

The owl spread its wings suddenly, hitting him in the face, and then it was out the window, which he closed directly behind it. 

“Well, that was unpleasant,” he said to Potter and reclaimed his seat on the window sill. He opened the chapter on the healing of scars and resumed his reading. 

There was no way in hell that he’d let _that_ beast in again.


	6. Whispers in the Dark [Thursday, September 9th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we should probably check in on Harry, right? Right.
> 
> @ThatBoringOne: At this point I feel like you're my own personal cheerleader! Thank you!

Potter's healing process was advancing according to plan, but two and a half weeks after his accident, he had still not woken up. They had lifted the magically induced coma and were waiting for him to recover his consciousness on his own now. 

The eagle owl had come back every single evening after that first encounter. Draco had no desire to be bitten again and had tried to ignore it at first, but that had proven to be pointless. The owl just would just tap the glass with its beak relentlessly, using increasingly more force. This rather defeated the purpose of Draco being there, because now he couldn't concentrate on his research any more than he could down in the staff room. 

It had taken less than five minutes for Draco to yield and let the beast in. It would then sit on the arm rest, staring at Potter and casting glances at the clock for exactly an hour before leaving again. Draco supposed it was waiting to see if Potter would wake up and write his response at last.

But as the days went by, he entertained the thought that maybe this was _Potter's_ owl and it was just concerned about him? Draco tried to get on its good side by bribing it with owl biscuits, but it just glared at him and wouldn't touch them even if he left them on the side table. 

Being Potter’s primary Healer, Draco had lodged Aurelius in at Blaise's and volunteered to spend the nights in Potter's room to keep vigil over him. He had conjured a luxurious four-poster next to Potter’s hospital bed and slept there for the last three nights. It was like being back in the Slytherin dormitories, only much quieter and also _much_ more hygienic. Anybody who had ever lived with Crabbe and Goyle would agree in a heartbeat. 

It was the middle of the night and Draco was tossing and turning. He had yet to get used to sleeping in the same room as Harry fucking Potter. He kept imagining waking up in the middle of the night and seeing Potter standing over him, similar to what Blaise had undergone – even if he _knew_ that Potter wouldn’t be able to stand. That was _logic_ , and logic didn’t work at night. The night was ruled by irrational (and rational) fears.

“Fuck this,” he muttered finally and got up again.

He went over to Potter’s bed, determined to do something useful at least. Might as well check up on him if he had to be awake. Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy didn’t care for his patients.

He summoned a set of vital vials from downstairs and charmed them to float in the air above Potter. He was just attuning them to him, when suddenly – 

_BANG!_

Draco wheeled around and could just make out the shape of an owl flying away from the window, when somebody grabbed him from below, wrenched him down and pressed his back into the mattress. 

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Potter growled roughly, and Draco’s wand whirled out of sight. 

The vials fell out of the air, bounced off the bed and crashed to the floor. Potter tried to roll onto him, probably to strangle him or something, but of course his legs didn’t work and he overbalanced and tipped over the edge with a deafening yell. 

“Fucking hell,” Draco whispered, lying on the bed, transfixed. His blood felt like ice water in his veins and his heart was hammering madly.

Then he came to his senses and crouched down next to Potter, not daring to touch him. 

“Potter! Don’t attack please, it’s just me – Draco Malfoy. Are you alright?” 

Potter groaned, which he took as a good sign. Conscious and not overly hostile, he could work with that. Draco put a hand on Potter’s shoulder, testing the waters. He flinched slightly, but at least Draco got to keep his hand. 

“I’ll lift you up now,” he said, grabbing Potter under the arms and heaving him up. Potter was maybe 130 pounds soaking wet, but Draco was still exhausted when he had him back in bed. Something crunched under his feet as he went searching for his wand, finally locating it near the window. 

“ _Lumos._ ” 

The room was a mess. The vials had shattered, sending glass and multi-coloured sand all across the floor. There were two bloody handprints where Potter had lain.

Draco quickly cleaned his own feet and then approached the bed carefully. Potter was slapping his legs now, bleeding all over his pyjama bottoms. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. His shirt was sprinkled with multi-coloured sand, making him look like a human rainbow. A mashed one.

“Why can't I feel my legs?” he asked flatly. He sounded calm, but his eyes betrayed him, searching Draco’s face desperately.

“Because you broke your back like an idiot. Don't worry, you'll regain full function – it's just going to take some time.” Draco did his best not to sound too worried. Insults were always good with Potter, right? Familiar terrain.

Potter groaned and sank back into his pillow. “Don't tell me we _lost_. I won't be able to look McCarthy in the face ever again.” 

Draco took the Golden Snitch from the side table, where it had acted as a paperweight for the flapping get-well card, and chucked it at Potter, who caught it easily. 

“You won. 280 – 40. Not that it matters, as it was just a friendly match. Although I have to say it didn't _seem_ very friendly.” 

Potter was turning the Snitch over in his hand, grinning to himself. Then he threw it in the air lightly, clearly wanting to let it fly. The Snitch came right back down and hit him in the forehead, then fell to the floor and rolled away. 

“Good job. Now you've got the full set,” Draco said. 

Potter followed the Snitch’s path with his eyes, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“Where's the rest of it?” 

“The wings are evidence.” 

“What for?” Potter groaned again, seemingly coming to a conclusion. “God, are the Tornados trying to get our win revoked?”

Draco shook his head. By now he was pretty sure that Potter’s head was filled with a thousand tiny Snitches and nothing else at all. Or maybe it was just one giant Snitch. Or a single tiny Snitch and the rest was hot air. Most likely that.

“They’re prime suspects for the murder of Harry Potter.” 

Potter laughed, apparently under the assumption that he was joking. He quickly stopped when he realised Draco wasn’t laughing with him. 

“But I’m alive,” he said, like Draco was slow. “Or do you want to tell me that this is my afterlife? I didn’t think I’d deserve _that_ much punishment.” 

Draco crossed both arms in front of his chest. “I’ll have you know _some_ people find my presence very enjoyable. They’re generally more sophisticated than you, mind.” 

“Naturally,” Potter agreed, grinning to himself. 

Draco just ignored that in favour of getting on with his explanation. “And you may be alive _now,_ but you certainly weren’t when you hit the pitch almost _three weeks ago_.”

“Three weeks ago?” Potter’s brows drew together in concentration. “Do you mean my collision with McCarthy? It wasn’t _that_ bad.” 

“No, what I _mean_ is your match against Tutshill, which happened three weeks ago.” 

“No, it didn’t,” Potter said stubbornly. 

“Yes, it _did_.” Draco could see Potter was going to disagree with him again, so he held up a hand to stop him. “You ripped that Snitch to pieces, it hit you in the head, you took a really nasty fall, broke your back and then you poodled around in St. Mungo’s for three weeks,” Draco summarised. “Oh, and also, you _died_. Now let me see your hands.” 

Potter looked down at his palms, as if just realising they were injured. Which was good, because it meant he wasn’t concentrating on the dying part. Draco didn’t know if Potter did meltdowns, and he wasn’t keen on finding out.

“Did you acquire your sense of tact here or a you just naturally this gifted?” Potter asked drily, watching Draco clean and then heal his hands. 

“I’m usually really good at these talks. You’re just really, _really_ irritating.” 

“Hey, that’s victim-blaming!” 

“You are a victim of your own incompetence, nothing more,” Draco said, charming the blanket over Potter’s legs. “If anything, the Snitch is the real victim here. You completely obliterated it. They should charge you for the replacement.” 

Draco waved his wand over Potter, vanishing the sand and then doing the standard diagnostic spells. He seemed to be alive and kicking. Well, maybe not _kicking_ as such. He was definitely still paraplegic.

“Don’t be daft! They couldn’t have used it again anyway. Flesh memory.” 

“Shush, go to sleep already. Healer’s orders.” 

“But I just woke up!” 

“Yes, well, it’s the middle of the night, so you should be asleep.” 

Potter threw his hands up. “I slept for _three weeks_!” 

“That doesn’t count,” Draco said, climbing into his own bed. 

“Why not?” 

“Because _I_ am tired and _you_ are keeping me up,” Draco answered, extinguishing the lights. He’d rather have left them on, but then Potter would probably have stayed up the whole night.

“But –” Potter protested. 

“Shut it, or I’ll have to knock you out again. For healing purposes.” 

This did the trick and they remained silent for several heavenly minutes. Draco thought Potter had finally fallen asleep, when – 

“Looks like a unicorn exploded,” Potter said drily. 

Draco looked at the colourful sand coating the floor, sprinkled with fine pieces of glass that sparkled in the moonlight. Somehow, he had forgotten the mess Potter had made. He pinned that on him and his distracting nature. 

“Unicorns are silver or gold,” he drawled. “You should know that. But what was I expecting, with that incompetent oaf for a teacher?” 

“Don’t make me come over there!” Potter said angrily, throwing off his blanket, apparently ready to come and kick his arse. Wasn’t he always?

“Please, be my guest,” Draco said, smirking. He pointed his wand at the floor. “ _Reparo_.” 

The vital vials reassembled in mid-air and landed softly on Potter's legs, which he wasn’t using right now anyway. The glass looked good as new, but there were some grains of green sand in the heart vial and the blue oxygen tube was flecked with yellow. He reckoned there was also some blood in there, but there was nothing to be done about that. Well, at least they could still be used for training purposes. He sent them into the chair with a wave of his wand. 

For a few moments, they were silent. Potter was probably sulking. Or trying to make his legs carry him over by sheer force of will. Most likely both. In turns though, not at the same time – tiny Snitch brains weren’t meant for multi-tasking.

“Where’s my wand?” Potter asked suddenly, as if just realising he didn’t have it. 

“Granger took it for safe-keeping.” 

“Shame. I’d really like to hex you right now.” 

“Mmmh,” Draco agreed, already half asleep. “Maybe that’s why she took it.” 

“It's a Muggle thing,” Potter said after a while. 

“What, wanting to hex me?” 

“Nah – The unicorns. They like to paint them with rainbow manes and tails.” 

“Well, that's just stupid.” 

“You’re stupid.”

“Remember the healing purposes!” Draco held his wand up in the air and shook it menacingly. “I won’t hesitate to knock you out.”

“I’ll knock _you_ out,” Potter muttered, but it was silent enough that Draco could pretend not to have heard.

Not that he usually shied away from confrontation ( _especially_ not if it involved Potter) – he just wanted to sleep for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one :)


	7. Bad Blood [Monday, September 13th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's Tuesday. You know what that means!
> 
> Big thanks to serilla, ThatBoringOne, Lannister_Debts, AlluraBelle and Amanda!  
> I'm working from home at the moment, which can get a bit lonely, and it was such a nice to surprise to wake up to all these nice comments :)

Draco was just presenting his hospital badge to the wizard from the DMLE, when he heard the angry yell that came from Potter's room (“I said _don't_ touch me!”), followed by the sound of something shattering. 

“Mr. Potter, _please_ ,” a female voice was pleading. “Calm down. I'm just here to help.” 

Draco exchanged a worried look with the security wizard, who gave a sharp nod. Draco took that to mean that he couldn’t leave his post, but would come to the rescue if Draco found he _did_ need help. Draco hurried down the corridor, wand in hand, wondering why these brutish Auror types couldn’t just use their _words_ for once. 

“I don't know you! So _hands off!_ ” 

When Draco opened the door, Potter had just lifted a second glass, ready to throw it. The first lay shattered on the floor next to the young therapeutic Healer, who was on the verge of tears. 

“ _Potter!_ ” Draco said sharply. “Have you quite finished embarrassing yourself?” 

“Not quite, no,” Potter said defiantly, but he put the glass down anyway. “I don't want her help. I can manage on my own just fine.” 

“Is that so?” Draco flicked his wand, clearing the floor of broken glass. “Let's see it then.” He gestured at the window. “It's rather stuffy in here, isn't it? You should probably let in some air.” 

“Mr. Potter, you _really_ shouldn't,” the witch said nervously.

This was, of course, the perfect way of egging him on more than ever. Potter’s features hardened and he shuffled closer to the edge of the bed. He raked one hand through his hair briskly, maybe as a warning not to get in his way now.

“Shush,” Draco said as Potter slowly put his bare feet onto the floor. “Don't wet your pants, Sanders. I'm taking full responsibility.” 

They both watched as Potter stood up determinedly, his legs wobbling dangerously underneath him. The Healer was twitching nervously at Draco’s side. 

“Go on,” Draco said, pretending to check the time on his pocket watch. “We can hardly wait.” 

Potter glared at him and took two small, deliberate steps toward the window. He seemed to think he had proved Sanders wrong and shot her a triumphant look – then his knees gave way and he tumbled to the floor with a startled yelp. Sanders rushed forward to catch him, but Draco held onto her arm and kept her back as Potter fell flat on his face rather ungainly. 

“This is a teaching moment,” he told her as they stayed there to watch Potter struggle to flip over. “Do you need help?” 

Potter gritted his teeth. “No,” he said irritably, “I don’t.” 

“Just as well.” Draco sat down in the chair next to his bed. “Sanders, you don’t have to stay. This may take a while.” 

Draco had to admit he was impressed with Potter’s stubbornness, when, fifteen minutes later, he was still trying to get up from the ground on his own. Draco had occupied himself with Potter’s chart, leafing through it and pretending to make notes while glancing at him every now and then and giving encouraging comments like “Any minute now” and “Whenever you’re ready.” 

Potter ceased his pathetic attempts at being independent and lay down flat on his back, staring at the ceiling in defeat. Draco looked at his pocket watch again. 

“My shift ends in fifteen minutes. If you’re still down there by then, I’ll have to tell Dayal to take over for me. But if you keep this up for another twelve hours, we can pick up right where we left off first thing in the morning.” 

Potter was clenching his fists and Draco was really glad that Granger had confiscated Potter’s wand until his release, just to ensure he couldn’t bail. He was probably keeping a tally of all the times he would have to hex Draco later. Potter muttered something under his breath, avoiding his eyes. 

“Beg your pardon?” 

Potter glared at him and said, “Would you _please_ help me up?” 

“I thought you could manage on your own just fine?” Draco said innocently. 

“You know perfectly well that I _can’t_ get up on my own,” Potter said through gritted teeth. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?” 

“Tremendously,” Draco said and hauled him up by both arms. “So, you’ll let Sanders help you with your physical therapy?” 

“Never in a million years!” Potter said, now back in bed. “She’s _way_ too enthusiastic and it’s creeping me out. As if it were a stroke of luck that my legs don’t work anymore.” 

“Sanders has been excited about getting to work with you since Friday,” Draco objected. 

“I don’t trust her. Everybody's always trying to touch me,” Potter said bitterly, tugging at a lightly curled lock of his hair and watching it bounce back. “At least with you I know you'd rather punch me in the face than get in my pants.” 

“I'm thinking about it right now,” Draco said drily, eliciting a laugh. 

He was trying not to think about that time a few days ago when he had definitely touched Potter without his consent. But that had been for medical purposes. Research. _Completely_ different. What Potter didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right? Why did he suddenly care about his feelings? This was just ridiculous.

“Now what? Want to ask your friends to help you out with physical therapy?” Draco suggested, but Potter was shaking his head determinedly.

“I put them through enough already. I don’t want to worry them needlessly.”

“Needlessly?” Draco asked incredulously. “I don’t quite think not being able to walk qualifies.”

“My friends are out of the question, so let it go, Malfoy.”

“But –” Draco started, but Potter cut him short.

“Hey, when can I go home?”

“Quit asking, I already told you. You can go home when you’re steady on your legs or somebody confirms you won’t be alone at home,” Draco said irritably. He was sick and tired of having this discussion over and over again.

“That’s bullshit! I’m twenty-four years old. I’ve been living on my own for _six years!_ ”

“My condolences,” Draco said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re _disabled_.”

Potter opened his mouth to argue, but Draco put up both hands.

“Granger agrees with me. And she _also_ told me they offered to take you in and you declined.”

Potter was put out, spluttering for words and finally settling on, “That’s none of your business!”

“No, maybe it isn’t. But under these circumstances, I’m not discharging you. I’d estimate it will take you about two months to get back on your feet, provided you do all the exercises on your own,” Draco said.

He paused before going on. “Think about all the matches _McCarthy_ will get to fly. Aren’t you playing the Harpies in October?” Another pause for emphasis. “Well, I guess not _you_.”

Potter gritted his teeth.

“You’ve made your decision, now you’ve got to live with it.”

And then, for maximum effect, Draco left.


	8. All of My Demons Are My Friends [Thursday, September 16th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Amanda, Oli and Eleanor for the comments! Here, have another one! :) This one's short anyway, I'd feel bad posting that later on its own. I was going to put it up before going to bed last night, but then the downtime happened.  
> Title: Bohnes - My friends

Draco missed the days when Potter had still been in a coma. He missed being able to check up on him without being glared at and having to argue about Potter’s care. And he really missed the quiet nights in his room, where he could study and really _think_ for a second.

When he walked in on Abrams and Nash in the on-call room at the start of his night shift, he finally had enough. He marched right up to Potter’s wing, chose the largest of the empty rooms and furnished it to his liking. It was right opposite Potter’s room, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Practicing healing spells was usually a silent affair.

His rounds had been quiet and Draco was looking forward to taking a break in his brand-new quarters. His chart and badge would light up if there was a new case for him, but he had a feeling this would be an uneventful night. Thursdays were usually the calm before the storm.

He had just passed Potter’s room when he heard it – a hiss that made his hair stand on end and sent an ice cold shiver down his back. Draco didn’t think twice – he drew his wand and barged in.

“ _Lumos!_ ”

Potter gasped and shot up.

A pressure wave radiated from his bed. It knocked over the chair and night stand, slammed the door shut. Draco was thrown back as well, connecting painfully with the now closed door. He was only able to hold on to his wand because he had already been gripping it like his life depended on it.

There was nobody in the room but the two of them.

Potter was drenched in sweat, his eyes wide open and horribly blank despite their vibrant colour. He was breathing heavily and his sheets were completely rumpled.

“Did you hear that too?” Draco asked hoarsely.

His heart was hammering somewhere in his throat. For a second, he had been sure he had heard You-Know-Who, talking to His snake in that horrid language. But He _couldn’t_ have been here, because He was dead – right?

But what else could it have been? Everybody knew that Potter wasn’t a Parselmouth anymore, because his ability had somehow been linked to _Him_ being alive.

“Hear what?” said Potter flatly, crossing his arms in front of his stomach tightly and clutching his drenched t-shirt with both hands. And then, without further notice, he leaned over the edge of his bed and was sick.

Potter didn’t object to his help with getting to the bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen up. Draco could have used a spell for that, but found that he personally felt better after a cold shower.

He used the time to clean the floor, change the sheets and pick up the furniture Potter had blasted away. Potter didn’t resist when Draco put an arm around his waist to support him on his way back to bed, either. He took the vial of Dreamless Sleep from him wordlessly, all the while avoiding his eyes.

Draco left the room, stopping at the door to turn off the light.

“I’m right across the hall. Just call if you need anything,” he said, not expecting a response and raising his wand.

“Malfoy –” Potter said tentatively, brushing away a dripping lock of hair that was sticking to his cheek. “Could you … leave the lights on? Just … just in case I wake up and want to … read …”

The sentence trailed off awkwardly, like Potter himself wasn’t sure if it was finished.

They both knew Potter wouldn’t wake up for at least eight hours after taking the potion, but somehow Draco felt it would by hypocritical of him to point this out. It wasn’t like _he_ was ever able to fall asleep with the lights out.

“Didn’t know you could read,” he answered instead.

“Night,” Potter said, his mouth quirking slightly.

If Draco didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he looked just a little bit grateful.


	9. The Contrast is Deafening [Sunday, September 19th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is definitely going to be a daily-update-thing, let's not kid ourselves here.  
> As always, a big thanks to my commenters serilla, ThatBoringOne and AlluraBelle! :)
> 
> Title: The Classic Crime – Black & White

Draco stood in front of Potter’s door, mentally preparing himself for what could await him after two glorious, quiet, _work-free_ days. He had run into Granger and some of the Weasleys earlier and they had talked for a few minutes. They seemed to think Potter was in a rather good mood today. But who knew what their standards looked like?

He opened Potter’s chart to see what his colleagues and the DMLE had documented during his absence.

September 17th 2004

Potter had apparently woken up early on Friday morning, despite the sleeping potion, and then declined breakfast. Longbottom and Lovegood had come to visit him and stayed for lunch. After that, Sanders had tried her luck again. Her note contained words like _‘vehement’_ and _‘unreasonable’_.

Later, a whole bunch of Weasleys had come by, accompanied by one Andromeda Tonks and Edward Lupin. Draco knew who they were, of course, though he had never met them.

The evening hadn’t ended that well – a mediwitch had found Potter on the bathroom floor, refusing her help. The Healer who was called in had healed his broken wrist and given him some sleeping potion.

September 18th 2004

Granger, Girl- and Boy-Weasley had visited first thing in the morning, which was probably the reason why Potter had eaten all of his breakfast. He had still declined physical therapy around ten and then not touched his lunch.

Sanders had tried again around two in the afternoon, to which Potter had replied with yelling and throwing his broken Snitch at her. _Charming_. Draco was pretty sure that Sander’s writing was getting messier, like she’d scribbled her notes in a rage.

Matthew Greyson had visited, but a girl called Katherine Greyson had been denied access because she was unauthorised. Draco obviously didn’t know what Potter and his coach had talked about, but his dinner had remained uneaten and the night hadn’t been any better – Potter had unhinged a door around midnight by causing what the mediwitch called a _‘shockwave’_.

Draco stared at the last note in surprise.

_‘11.56 pm: refuses calming potion against Healer's advice; asks after Healer Malfoy – D. Austin’_

Well, that wasn’t very insightful. It could mean all sorts of things – had Potter asked _for_ him? Had he just wondered where Draco was? Draco certainly wasn’t going to ask Healer Austin what her note meant.

September 19th 2004

Potter hadn’t slept until three in the morning. Despite finally taking some sleeping potion then, he had already been awake by eight again. Also, he had only eaten two pieces of dry toast. Draco really wasn’t interested in convincing Potter to eat. Maybe that was his way of showing how little he liked being at St. Mungo’s. Draco wasn’t going to play this game. Potter could starve himself, for all he cared.

Draco was surprised to read that Sanders, who apparently had a death wish, had actually tried to convince Potter once again. Her (barely legible) note read:

_‘09.30 am: refuses talk about physical therapy; sets fire to curtains (wand still with H. Granger?) – P. Sanders’_

The last note stated that a whole bunch of people had visited for two hours just before lunch. This wasn’t news to Draco, who had run into Granger and most of the Weasley clan on their way out. Judging by that encounter, Draco somehow doubted that Potter would be in a good mood.

He took a deep breath and opened the door. Potter was lying on the floor in front of the window, throwing the Snitch into the air and catching it over and over again. He barely looked up when Draco entered his room. On the side-table stood his lunch, untouched.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing. What does it look like?” Potter grumbled.

“It _looks_ like you fell and now you're pretending you _want_ to lie on the cold, hard floor,” Draco said suspiciously, coming nearer.

“No, it _doesn’t,_ ” Potter said pointedly. “ _Please,_ just go away. I’m not in the mood today.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you.” Draco caught the Snitch in mid-air and held it there out of Potter’s reach. “I don’t care.”

“Hey!” Potter got up clumsily. He raked a hand through his hair angrily, but it wouldn’t stay down. Draco wondered how long Potter had been lying on the ground before he came in. His visitors had left over an hour ago.

“Quit buggering around! You should be doing your exercises.”

“I don’t want to. They are completely useless!” Potter yelled back.

“You’re just sulking because you’re missing Granger’s birthday!” Draco said. “And you’re missing it because you’re delaying your recovery! Because you won’t let anybody help you!”

Draco threw the Snitch at Potter’s stupid forehead, but unfortunately, he caught it. Fucking Seekers.

But the statement seemed to catch Potter off guard. “How do _you_ know it’s Hermione’s birthday?” he asked, deflating suddenly.

“I saw them leave a while ago. And we _do_ talk, you know?”

Potter hoisted himself up on the window sill and turned his back on Draco, probably hoping he would just leave.

“Alright, that’s _it_!” Draco said exasperatedly. He went over to the closet, pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater at random and threw them at Potter.

“Get dressed; I’m taking you to that stupid party!”

Potter just glared at him, clothes held loosely in his hands. He sounded almost hurt when he said, “Quit your bullshit, Malfoy.”

“I mean it,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “On one condition, that is.”

“There we go. Can’t take the Slytherin out of the boy, can you?”

“Do you want to go or not?” he asked, ignoring that Potter had just called him a _boy_.

But Potter was already taking off his t-shirt and putting on the crimson sweater with a Golden Snitch stitched onto it.

“Just tell me what you want,” he said, pulling off his joggers. Draco couldn’t have turned around in time even if he had wanted to.

It wasn’t all that easy not to look at Potter’s body while _not_ looking away like a blushing virgin either. He was a Healer, damn it! He knew what humans looked like! Even if this particular human had really nice, well-toned legs.

 _‘This is Potter!’_ a shrill voice in his head supplied helpfully, snapping him out of it. Not that anything _inappropriate_ was going on. Draco was allowed to have a completely _objective_ opinion, right? Besides, this wasn’t the first time he saw Potter naked (well, almost), either. Blaise had definitely seen _more_.

And now Potter was looking at him. Right. He was supposed to state his terms.

“You have to let me help you with your stupid physical therapy.” Draco sounded a little too rushed for his own taste.

“Deal!” Potter said, struggling to stand on one shaky leg long enough to put on his jeans.

Well, that had been surprisingly easy. Then again, maybe Potter had just been waiting for an opportunity to accept some help without feeling guilty about it.

“I’ll probably regret this,” Draco sighed, as Potter fell back against the windowsill.

“Probably.”

Draco made sure to transfer all his cases to the other Healers before they signed off with Lancaster from the DMLE and went to the next fireplace. After his third meeting with the floor and Draco's third threat to call the trip off (“I mean it!”), Potter finally sat down in the wheelchair Draco had summoned.

They squashed into the fireplace together, since Draco didn't know if he would be able to access their destination on his own, without the golden ticket that was Potter. Also, he was worried Potter would just make a run for it if left to his own devices. Fine, maybe not a _run_. More like an awkward wobbly-legged shuffle.

Potter had told him the birthday would take place at a _‘burrow’_ and Draco was seriously considering doing a quick examination of Potter's mental health. But “The Burrow!” was indeed what Potter said as he threw the Floo powder into the fire and they were swallowed by green flames, rotating rapidly around their own axis.

~o~

Draco just got a quick view of a very stuffed kitchen before Potter lost his balance next to him. Draco caught him around the middle and they both tumbled out of the fireplace and onto the hearth rug.

“ _Harry!_ ” someone squealed and five red-heads turned to look at them, holding plates and pans and cutlery.

Draco let go of Potter and got up off his knees as one of the older Weasley siblings helped Potter up. Mrs. Weasley came bustling over, embracing Potter motherly and trying to smoothen his hair at the same time, which, of course, proved to be a waste of time and effort.

“Oh Harry, it's so good to see you,” she said happily.

“Malfoy agreed to babysit me; I hope it's okay,” Potter said, grinning.

“Of _course_ it's okay,” Mrs. Weasley said, smiling at Draco warmly and making his stomach do an odd twist. “The more the merrier.”

And this certainly seemed to be the Weasleys’ family motto. She held on tightly to Potter’s arm and led them out into the garden, where an enormous table was laden with enough food to satisfy the whole of Hufflepuff House.

“Weasley said they were just doing a _quiet_ family birthday,” Draco hissed, silent enough for just Potter to hear.

“Yeah, so?” Potter asked innocently, but Draco could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Longbottom, Abbott and Lovegood are family?” Draco asked, looking over at where the three of them were laughing with the Weasley girl.

“Aren't all the old wizarding families related?” Potter asked. “That means you're family too.”

“I didn't know Dean Thomas was from an old wizarding family,” Draco said suspiciously, ignoring the second part of Potter's sentence.

“He's with Luna, so he's family too.”

“Potter, this is _not_ a quiet birthday,” Draco hissed.

But Potter just grinned at him broadly, a completely different person than he had been just twenty minutes ago. And then the rest of the _family_ discovered them and they all rushed over to greet them and hug Potter, like they hadn't just seen him this morning or a few days ago, at most.

It was the most insane event Draco had ever attended. They started with a late lunch, that consisted of enough food to last Draco through the next week. Then came the cake, shaped like a giant pile of books.

Draco sat between Potter and Lovegood, who was incredibly open but also incredibly weird. He found that he didn't even mind that much, as long as he had someone to talk to. Nobody seemed to be hostile to him being there and he suspected it had something to do with his role in keeping Potter alive.

The She-Weasel even invited him to participate in their impromptu Quidditch match and certainly not for a lack of fliers. Merlin knew they had enough people there to man an entire Quidditch league.

“I can't possibly; I'm at work,” he protested. He had no desire to embarrass himself in front of the Weasleys (let alone two Quidditch professionals), seeing as he had not flown for the better part of five years.

“You're babysitting,” Potter corrected. “And look at that, I've got a ton of babysitters now.”

“I'm not _babysitting_ , I'm looking after your health,” Draco said stubbornly. “Who else here is a certified Healer?”

Potter grinned sweetly, which had to mean that the following reply would be anything but. “Well, it would be of immense healing value if I could watch you lose pathetically.”

And of course _now_ Draco had no other choice but to grab the Firebolt Girl-Weasley was holding out to him.

As it turned out, they were a few players short after all, which was why they agreed to play with just two Chasers and one Beater on either side. Since Weasley was a professional Chaser, it was decided to switch all of the positions around. She was now playing Keeper for the _‘Blibbering Humdingers’_ (the task of naming the teams had apparently fallen to Lovegood).

The remaining Weasley twin was made Seeker and Draco was appointed as Chaser along with another Weasley brother, who was already pulling arm braces over his hands, which had burn marks all over. Thomas was given a bat.

Draco looked down at the robes they had given him. They seemed to be discarded robes of the Holyhead Harpies, dark green and charmed to remove the emblem. He could just make out the faint talon emblazoned on the chest.

On the other side of the field were the _‘Crumple-Horned Snorkacks’_ (Draco suspected that he was missing a rather big joke). Hannah Abbott, who was apparently dating Longbottom (who would have thought he had it in him?), had volunteered to play as Keeper. The oldest Weasley (was that Charlie?) was talking Chaser strategies with Potter’s Weasley. Angelina Johnson, who had joined them after lunch, took up a bat.

And to everybody's surprise, Lovegood agreed to be Seeker. Draco suspected the reason were the Snorkacks’ robes, which were grey and white and came with a cape shaped like the head of a falcon. Draco dimly remembered she had a penchant for wearing animal heads to Quidditch games.

It was the most fun Draco ever had at a Quidditch match. The Weasley’s had a broad selection of excellent brooms, probably stemming from Weasley’s and Potter’s Quidditch careers. Since everybody played at a disadvantage regarding their positions, there was no pressure to present peak performance.

The most dangerous part of the game was when Thomas accidentally flung not only the Bludger at Draco but also his bat. The perilous bit wasn’t dodging them, but rather holding on to his broom while he laughed himself to tears.

The match ended unexpectedly when Lovegood caught the Snitch, securing the Snorkacks a 210 – 120 win. He later overheard her telling Potter over dinner that she had mistaken the Snitch for a Golden Snidget, an endangered bird. Potter looked at him over her shoulder and restrained his laughter. Draco couldn’t help but grin back.

They bowed out when the younger family members started a game of butterbeer pong, which was apparently a Muggle tradition of some kind.

Granger took Draco aside to thank him for bringing Potter while the latter was busy hugging everybody goodbye. Draco didn’t know how Potter could keep track of all these people, but in the end, he spotted even George and Angelina, who were snogging somewhere behind a bush.

Draco, in turn, was found by Mrs. Weasley, who took his hand in both of hers and smiled at him warmly.

“Thank you, Draco. It was lovely having you here.”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Weasley. The food was excellent,” Draco said politely.

“Malfoy, let’s go,” Potter disrupted them. “I’m all done.”

“I’m sorry, we’d better get back before the DMLE starts printing my wanted posters,” Draco said to Mrs. Weasley, grimacing at Potter’s rather rude disturbance.

“That’s alright, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You’re welcome to accompany Harry again any time.”

She hugged Potter goodbye (for the second time) and then rushed off to stop George from spiking the beer pong beer with something that looked like it came from his joke shop.

“Do you _always_ behave like a troll in a china shop?” Draco hissed, grabbing Potter’s upper arm (to support him on the way to the kitchen fireplace, of course).

“Ouch! Not so hard, Malfoy!” Potter exclaimed dramatically, but his eyes were shining brightly.

Weasley and Granger looked over at them from where they were sitting on the canopy swing, but they didn’t come to rescue Potter. Draco took this as a sign of trust.

~o~

It was almost eleven when he dropped Potter off. Potter fell onto his bed face down, not even bothering with taking off his shoes or clothes.

“Night, Malfoy,” he murmured, already half asleep.

“Night,” Draco replied and he dimmed the lights and closed the door on the way out.

He was pretty sure he heard a quiet “Thanks” from behind the door.


	10. Wings [Monday, September 20th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to serilla, ThatBoringOne, Caterine2403 and hitomu for commenting! You guys are the best!

When Draco got to Potter's room the next day, the door was slightly open and he could hear people talking inside. Knowing that Potter would be in a foul mood if he booted out his friends, Draco went into his temporary study instead. He took the time to work on his anatomical preparations, testing the new experimental spells he had found in his research.

Ordinary healing spells had proven ineffective against curse scars, but Draco had reason to believe that first cutting away the scar tissue and then healing the damaged skin would show promising results. Unfortunately, there was no way of telling how living tissue would react to the procedure, as it had some properties that were lost in the preparations. You couldn’t really curse those, for one.

What Draco needed was a guinea pig, preferably a human one. Someone with curse scars and no regard for their own safety. Someone willing to take some pain and risks. At least Draco _hoped_ that there would only be _some_ pain.

He had entertained the possibility of testing the spells on himself, but he wouldn't be able to use his magic properly if he was wounded. No, it had to be someone else. And he knew perfectly well _who_ would be particularly suitable for this purpose. But he couldn't ask him, of course. Potter already had nightmares; Draco didn't need to make them worse.

“Alright, get well soon,” somebody said in the hallway and Draco heard a door close.

He put away his quill and went out into the hallway, where he came face to face with –

“ _Blaise?_ ”

“Draco! Fancy meeting you here, at your place of work!” Blaise said, patting him on the shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked incredulously. Blaise was _not_ someone he had expected to see in this particular maximum-security wing.

“I was invited, what else?”

“Invited to do what?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“To talk about the accident, of course. We're trying to improve the Lightning Blast,” Blaise said excitedly. “I'm afraid I'm a bit biased when it comes to my brooms, but Harry has some very strong opinions. He's exactly what this project needs.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Draco agreed. Potter certainly was no pushover, much to his chagrin.

“Alright, I'll see you on Wednesday.” Blaise grinned and left him standing there.

Draco looked after him until he was out of sight, very confused. Potter had invited _Blaise_ here?

Potter was sitting on his bed cross-legged, playing with the Snitch again. When Draco entered the room, the Snitch pulled toward the door a few inches, causing Potter to miss it. It rolled down his legs and came to rest at the foot of his bed. Draco picked it up and put it on the side table, where it spun around its own axis slowly.

“Guess it's completely broken now.” Potter laughed. Well, someone was in a good mood. This just kept getting weirder and weirder.

“Or maybe it's just fed up with you,” Draco speculated. “First you rip it apart and now you just throw it about all day long.”

“I'm not throwing it about,” Potter protested. “I'm just playing with it.”

“So, you _didn't_ throw it at Sanders?”

“That was different! She completely deserved that! And it's just a Snitch! Not like I could have _killed_ her with it or anything!”

“Well, you managed to kill _yourself_ with that very Snitch, didn't you?” Draco said pointedly.

“Shut it, Malfoy. You know what I mean!” Potter said, putting his arms across his chest. His fingers dug into his upper arms, the knuckles white. It rather looked like he was clinging to himself. So much for his good mood.

“I wasn't trying to _seriously_ hurt her,” he added defiantly.

“So, you _didn't_ try to set her on fire, as well?” Draco asked.

“And how would I have done that? Did I throw a match at her too?” Potter was really surging up now.

Draco just kept looking at him, which definitely didn’t help calming him down. “She thinks you are hiding your wand somewhere.”

Potter threw out his arms angrily. “Oh? Do you think so too? Do you want to _search_ me, perhaps?!”

“No, not at all,” Draco said calmly. “I know perfectly well that you can set someone on fire even without your wand. Your anger issues and poor impulse control are seeing to that.”

“Are you done lecturing me now?” Potter bit out.

“Not yet,” Draco said, sighing. “Look, I couldn't care less for Sanders. She should have left you alone after you first threw the Snitch at her, at the latest. What I _do_ care about is not being set on fire. Understood?”

There was silence for a second.

“Yeah, fine,” Potter grumbled.

Draco clapped his hands once, startling him.

“Alright, get up!” he said and Potter obeyed grudgingly.

“Okay, now close your eyes,” Draco instructed.

Potter knit his eyebrows. “I'm not doing that.”

Draco told himself to keep calm. He was a professional. Patients were difficult sometimes. He could manage. “Why not? I can't jinx you if I want to keep my job, can I?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Potter pressed out. “But if you want to leave here with both your hands attached, you’d _better_ not touch me.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Draco said, putting his wand above his heart for emphasis. Potter closed his eyes reluctantly.

“Okay, now picture all the things you can't do right now.”

Potter's brow furrowed some more and he was swaying slightly on the spot. This was, of course, to be expected, since his sense of balance was screwed up, his legs were rather weak and his eyes were closed. Draco kept his hands firmly at his sides and just took a few steps back as Potter fell down on his hands and knees.

He hit the floor with a yell and then whipped his head up to narrow his eyes at Draco. “Did you plan for that?!” he asked furiously.

“No. I _planned_ on catching you,” Draco said matter-of-factly. “But I also really like my hands. You see my dilemma.”

Potter glared at him some more and Draco decided he could stand to budge an inch.

“Tell you what: You can hold onto my arm and I won't have to touch you at all,” Draco offered. “You can even pinch me if you get too fed up with me, which I'm sure will happen sooner rather than later.”

Potter pulled himself up and then took a hold of his proffered right arm. It always felt wrong to have others touch his left, but offering it to Harry Potter of all people would have felt downright _filthy_. If Potter had noticed him switching to his left side, he didn't mention it.

“Alright, close your eyes again. Now think of everything you'll get to do once you're discharged.”

Potter looked rather distracted, a laborious expression on his face.

After half a minute, he muttered, “I can't think with my eyes closed and you standing next to me.”

“Quidditch,” Draco suggested. “Birthday parties. Sleeping in your own bed. Getting laid at illegal Polyjuice Parties.”

Potter pinched him hard. “We don't _ever_ talk about that, because it _didn't happen!_ ”

“ _Ouch_! Stop it, Potter!” Draco yelped.

He tried to wrench his arm away, but Potter was holding on tight, still pinching him. Using his left arm, Draco pushed him away by the forehead and Potter fell back onto the bed.

“You're not allowed to talk about that! That's a breach of Healer-patient confidentiality!”

“I _am_ allowed to talk to the _patient_ about it!”

Potter pulled his leg up onto the bed and put his arms around his knees, on which he rested his head.

“This is stupid. Your whole Zen charade is completely useless.”

“I'm trying to give you a goal to work for, but you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself! It’s quite pathetic, to be honest.”

Draco took a small, golden box out of his front pocket and slapped it on the side table. The Golden Snitch, still spinning, rolled over to it like it had been accio-ed.

“What's that?” Potter looked up at him, intrigued.

“An incentive.”

Potter took the box (and the Snitch, since it was sticking to it) and opened it. Inside were two delicate silvery wings.

“Where did you get these?” he asked and took them out gingerly.

“Found them on the pitch,” Draco said, still pissed off.

“I thought you said the wings were evidence?”

Draco shrugged. “I never said the Aurors _found_ them, did I? Doesn’t mean they’re not evidence. Not very thorough, these _professionals_.”

“They look really pitiful,” Potter said, closing his eyes and also both hands around the Snitch and its wings. “ _Reparo._ ”

A faint light shone through his fingers and something jingled in his hands. When he opened them again, the Snitch was whole once more.

“First of all: show-off,” said Draco with a roll of his eyes.

But Potter just grinned at him and lifted it up between thumb and index finger before letting it go. It hovered in the air between the two of them and they watched the tiny wings flutter happily.

Potter opened his mouth to say something when his magic failed unexpectedly. The body of the Snitch dropped to the floor like a stone. The wings sailed down slowly, finally landing on Potter's legs. Potter seemed to be rather upset and it took him a few seconds to close his mouth.

“Second of all: You shouldn’t use magic while you’re still healing. It will only take longer.”

Potter completely ignored what Draco had said and instead offered the wings to him. “You fix them.”

Draco summoned the golden body and dropped it into Potters outstretched hand.

“No,” he said bluntly. “You'll have to do this yourself, when you get out of here.”

This set Potter off again. Of course. “Why? Because I’m not jumping at the chance to _meditate_ with you? That’s really childish, Malfoy.”

“No, because there are things you have to actually _work_ for! And some things are worth the effort!” Draco said sharply. “You can't just expect everything to magically fix itself! _That’s_ childish.”

For a moment it seemed that Potter was going to fight him on it. But then he looked down at the Snitch in his hands, battered and broken, but still fighting, and there was resolution on his face.

“Yeah … You're right.” Potter pointed at him and added sternly, “Don’t _ever_ tell anybody I said that.”

He put the wings back into their box and got up from the bed. Draco flinched when Potter took hold of his left arm of his own accord and closed his eyes.

A chill travelled up Draco’s arm, and he tried desperately to shake it off before Potter could notice. What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

“Alright, I'm ready. Let's _do_ this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, come check out my oneshot [All tied up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215105). I basically wrote it all today and I'm really excited about it! :D  
> 


	11. Here Is Where It Starts [Saturday, October 23rd 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everybody who commented, namely serilla, BlaseBlanco, AlluraBelle, ThatBoringOne and CherylMercury. Hearing your thoughts really helps me beta-reading and looking out for things I might have to explain a bit more. :) 
> 
> Also a big thanks to everybody who read my oneshot! :)
> 
> Well, let's see what our boys are up to now. We're gathering speed now!

Draco was just discharging his last patient for the day when he heard the turmoil that was taking place at the entrance. Always in the mood for a little drama he could retell later, he went over to see what the racket was about. A middle-aged man with ginger hair was arguing with the Welcome Witch heatedly.

“I don’t care if he’s tending to the Queen of England! I need to see Malfoy _right now_!”

The man banged both his hands on the desk, unsettling the little sign reading _‘Please keep a respectful distance (Our Welcome Witch is authorised to use Body-Binds)’_.

“Sir, you’ll have to wait like everybody else,” the Welcome Witch huffed, barely looking up from her paperwork. “Just tell me your name and emergency, then sit down in the waiting area until your name is called up.”

“I can’t wait for Malfoy to heal some measly measles or whatever he’s doing all day. This is a matter of life and death!” the man protested, running a hand through his hair with way too much force, like somebody who just had a haircut and wasn’t used to their hair being that short.

“You’ll have to make do with another member of our staff. Healer Malfoy has already retired for the day,” she droned out.

Draco put down the fire-proof bandages he was holding and went over to rescue the Welcome Witch. “It’s alright, I’ll take care of it.”

He pulled the man away from the desk by his arm. She just glared at him and muttered something about rewarding rude behaviour under her breath. Draco led the man into the next empty examination room and closed the door behind them.

“Alright, Potter. What’s _so_ important it can’t possibly wait?”

“How did you –” the man spluttered.

“Oh _please_ , don’t insult me.” Draco smirked. “You’ve got a tell.”

Potter just looked at him dumbfounded, for once lost for words.

“Well? Spit it out already. Won’t the Polyjuice wear off?” Draco guessed.

“No,” Potter said as he took off the locket he had stuffed under his plaid shirt. He changed right back into his normal self.

“Dayal won’t clear me for the game,” he complained. “He says there’s nothing he can do, because _you_ estimated it would take me until the middle of November to fully recover.”

“Yes, I _did_ , because you were being a stubborn _moron_. Once you agreed to let me help you, you progressed much faster.”

“Try telling _him_ that!”

“Dayal is a little … let’s say meticulous,” Draco complied.

“Let’s say he’s _a lot_ incompetent,” Potter said angrily. _“Draco_ , please fix this!”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat at being addressed like this by Potter. He grimaced, a look that was immediately mirrored on Potter’s face. That was what instant regret looked like.

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, it felt wrong as soon as I said it,” Potter said. “Do you see what this is doing to me?”

“You must be really distressed to stoop _that_ low.”

Why did it feel like they were exaggerating right now? True, they had never called each other by their first names, but was that really so unthinkable? Draco had a nagging feeling that they were mostly playing pretend by now, because that was what they were used to.

“You know how much I need this match. The only thing that carried me through the last month was imagining McCarthy’s reaction when I fly into the arena. I planned on hiring a photographer to follow her around and capture the look on her stupid face!”

“Yes, that’s totally healthy,” Draco agreed.

He summoned the vital vials and began his examination. He also made Potter do some exercises, watching for any restrictions he might have overlooked when he had discharged Potter a week ago. Apart from his unusually low body temperature (which he had apparently always had and never wanted to discuss), Potter was as fit as a fiddle. Draco filled out the certificate.

“There you go,” he said, holding it out to him. “You’d better hurry. Doesn’t the match start in less than an hour?”

Potter snatched the paper from him and then hugged him spontaneously, almost crushing Draco against his chest. He may have been only five foot five (not that Draco had checked his chart for the information) with the thin build that was typical for Seekers, but he was definitely stronger than he looked.

“Quit flirting, Potter,” Draco protested, supressing a grin. “I thought we’ve already established that doesn’t work for us. Just catch the Snitch, or I’ll be mortally offended.”

“Oh well, now that you say it,” Potter said, letting go of him and putting his locket back on. “I was planning on just chasing the Quaffle instead. But the Snitch works just as well, _I guess_.”

Draco snorted. Potter seemed to blush slightly, something Draco had never seen him do (probably due to the fact that his skin usually wasn’t as pale as it was now, glamoured as an honorary Weasley). He made to leave and then stopped at the door, his hand already on the handle.

“Hey, you get off now, right?” he asked suddenly, still flushed. “Would you like to come? You could take a photo of McCarthy for me. And bring Blaise as well. I’ll put you on the list. I owe him one for the disaster with the Lightning Blast.”

And then, before Draco had a chance to answer or even think about it, he was gone.

~o~

Potter had indeed put them on the list. The players were already doing their warm-ups when the usher led them up into the Falcons’ exclusive stands. The occupancy was much the same as last time – reserve players and family members were talking amongst themselves. Only Coach Greyson and his daughter (that fake-ginger bitch) were nowhere to be seen. Draco sat down and looked out at the field. To his surprise, McCarthy was currently doing her rounds around the goal hoops.

Just then, Potter entered the stands, shouldering his broomstick. He grinned at Blaise and him, and then went over to a young, blond man who was, judging by his robes, the Falcons’ vice-coach.

“David! I’m good to go,” he said, holding out his certificate.

David’s face fell. “Matt’s already put in Felicity for this match …” he said uncertainly. “Don’t know where he is ...”

Potter wasn’t deterred by this. “I’m First Seeker. That means he wants me to seek first, right?” he said confidently.

David seemed to be on the fence for a few seconds, but then he made up his mind and took the paper from Potter.

“Get warmed up,” he said, decidedly now. “And try to tell Felicity _gently_.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Potter said, catching Draco’s gaze. “Sensitivity is my middle name.”

“That’s not what your Chocolate Frog card says!” David called after him, but Potter had already mounted his broomstick and flown into the arena.

McCarthy turned around immediately, alerted by the sudden rise in noise from the crowd. Draco had never seen a more furious expression than the one she made when she spotted Potter, who was flying straight at her. She landed and threw her broom to the ground hard, storming off into the locker rooms. A broom-boy ran onto the field to collect her discarded (and ridiculously expensive) broom.

Greyson entered the stands fifteen minutes later. Draco expected him to be elated, since he had visited Potter at St. Mungo’s every other day and constantly pestered him for updates on his health. But the look on his face when he saw Potter in the air, hovering above the Falcons’ Keeper in starting formation, was one of pure shock. He turned to David immediately.

“What’s Potter doing out there? He doesn’t have clearance!”

“He does!” David waved the certificate at him, immediately on the defence. “Healer Malfoy cleared him an hour ago!” He indicated Draco with a nod of his head.

Greyson whirled around. His eyes narrowed when he saw Draco and Blaise in the stands. The referee chose that moment to blow her whistle, which was probably why he closed his mouth and sat down next to David, staring at Potter like he expected him to drop dead every second now.

“ _You_ don’t get to decide these things, David,” Greyson said under his breath. “You better hope he’s up to the task, or it will be your job on the line.”

Blaise leaned over to Malfoy, grinning at him. “Never mind him,” he said loudly. “ _I_ still trust in your healing abilities, or I wouldn’t have placed a _very_ large bet on Harry catching the Snitch.”

Draco really hoped he wouldn’t be the one costing the vice-coach his job and Blaise a lot of gold. It wasn’t like Potter had wrapped him around his little finger. No, there had been nothing wrong with him earlier and Draco had just done his job. Clearing Potter had _not_ been a favour.

The match was brutal. The Falcons were their usual reckless selves. Dayal and the Harpies’ Healer had their work cut out for them as players were Bludgered left and right or just plain barging into each other to clear the way. Potter, obviously in high spirits due to McCarthy’s dismissal from the line-up, was in top form. He seemed to evade everyone and everything effortlessly, a perfect unity of flier and broom.

But even the best Seeker could not win a match on his own. The Harpies’ Chasers, Ginny Weasley among them, were scoring goals left, right and centre. It was sheer impossible for the Falcons to keep up.

In the end it _was_ Potter who caught the Snitch in an act of damage control. The game ended 480 – 310 for the Holyhead Harpies.

Spirits were low in their stands, which was why Blaise and Draco didn’t linger. They had just reached the exit when somebody called after them.

“Malfoy! Zabini!”

They turned around. Charlie Weasley was coming over to them from the Harpies’ stands, where Bill, Fleur, Granger and Weasley were still standing, apparently waiting for him.

“We’re having a victory celebration at the Burrow. Ginny’s team won _and_ Harry caught the Snitch!” He grinned at them. “Do you want to join us? After all, it’s due to you that Harry could play.”

Draco looked over at the others. They all grinned and waved at them.

When had he become friendly with the Weasley clan? He supposed it had happened somewhere around the time when they had offered him the use of their first names on Granger’s birthday – even if he couldn’t bring himself to follow through with that completely. Potter, Granger and Weasley would _always_ remain just that. That was just how it was. No matter what Potter called him in a moment of desperation.

Did he _want_ to be friendly with them? He certainly knew how his _father_ would want him to answer that question. Well, at least he couldn’t threaten Draco with disinheritance any more. That ship had definitely sailed.

He was just about to politely decline when Blaise beat him to the punch, elbowing Draco in the ribs.

“With pleasure! We’ve got nothing better to do anyway!” he exclaimed excitedly, grabbing Draco’s arm and dragging him over to the remaining Weasleys.

“I do!” Draco protested. “Aurelius is waiting for me at home!”

“He’s used to it by now,” Blaise said dismissively. “And he knows where you keep the food; he won’t starve.”

And then Bill grabbed Draco’s arm and Disapparated with him before could get in another word.

~o~

Attendance was near the same as it had been at Granger’s birthday party, with most of the Holyhead Harpies to boot. Draco could practically watch as Blaise’s eyes glazed over. The very next second, he was swarming out to find himself some company for the evening.

Draco joined Lovegood and Thomas at the bonfire that was already blazing in the garden. They were sitting on benches that seemed to be carved from tree trunks, drinking butterbeer.

The later it got, the more people joined them to warm themselves at the fire and eat self-roasting marshmallows, until it was fully dark and all the seats were taken.

Ginny Weasley was sitting between Draco and Blaise, entertaining all of them with her account of the match, when somebody put a hand on Draco’s and her shoulder. Draco looked up at Potter, who was now trying to squeeze between them.

When he finally managed, the bench was so cramped that it felt like their sides were fused together. Draco’s body was thoroughly warmed by the fire and Potter’s felt icy in contrast, which didn’t make ignoring it any easier.

“Here,” Potter said, holding out his closed left fist. Draco held out his hand automatically and Potter dropped the Golden Snitch into his right palm.

“There you go. Your Snitch.” He grinned, his face illuminated warmly by the flickering light.

As he closed his fist around the Snitch, Draco’s stomach did a very odd thing – it felt like something hot spreading through his body. The marshmallows couldn’t still be roasting inside him, could they?

“You shouldn’t have,” Draco teased, ignoring the tingling feeling in his stomach. “I hope it wasn’t too much of a bother?”

“No big,” Potter said cockily, looking over at the Harpies’ Seeker, who was sitting opposite him, her flaming red hair practically glowing in the fiery light. “It was just flying around; I don’t think Georgina even wanted it.”

Georgina Thompson chucked a marshmallow at Potter, who caught it in his mouth and grinned at her. “Thanks!” he said and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re a menace, Potter,” she said, but Draco could see she was grinning too as she turned to talk to her neighbour again.

Potter peered at Ginny, who was talking animatedly to Blaise, and then managed to lean closer still to Draco. He could now feel the muscles flex in Potter’s arm and leg, and Draco had the sudden realisation he hadn’t had sex for over a year now and – _FUCKING HELL_ , this was _Potter_ sitting next to him! Where did these thoughts come from all of a sudden? Could he really be _this_ desperate for some affection?

He decided then and there to leave as soon as the opportunity would present itself. But why was it suddenly so hard to get up and just _go_?

“All right, tell me,” Potter said quietly and Draco flinched at the feeling of hot breath on his cheek. “What’s my tell?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Draco laughed throatily. “But I’m not telling.”

He could feel the green eyes fixed on his profile and refused to face him. They were sitting way too close for that. It seemed that Draco had some things to work out before he was ready for _that_.

“Come on. I’ll give you the Snitch as payment.”

“But you already gave it to me,” Draco said smugly, trying with all his might to just act _normal_.

He quickly put the Snitch into his left pocket to prevent any funny business Potter could get up to. This was no mean feat, as he could barely reach his pocket without elbowing his neighbour.

“Malfoy, _please_! I’m dying to know!” Potter actually whined.

“If I _tell_ you, how will I recognize you in the future?”

Potter grumbled, “I fucking hate Slytherins.”

“What did we do?” Blaise clutched at his chest as if Potter had personally wounded him. Why was _he_ even listening in on their conversation? And _wow_ , way to keep your cool, Draco.

“Not you, Blaise,” Potter said placatingly. “You’re quite alright for a Slytherin.”

Draco suddenly registered that Potter didn’t call Blaise by his last name anymore and also hadn’t earlier, when he had invited them to the match.

Could there be something going on between the two of them? Had Potter invited him to the match to have a reason to see _Blaise_? And most importantly: Why did Draco suddenly care about Blaise’s love life?

He told himself it was because he didn’t want Blaise to end up on the front page of the Prophet yet again. He was _still_ getting hate mail for almost permanently killing the Golden Boy.

Some of the pressure against Draco’s right side vanished suddenly. Blaise and Ginny had gotten up and were on their way toward the broom shack, talking about different builds. Potter looked after them, seemingly so distracted he didn’t even think to slide away from Draco, now that there was more than enough room on their bench.

Draco got up as well and Potter almost tipped over, suddenly off balance.

“I have to go. Aurelius is waiting for me at home and I don’t want him to eat all of my cereals,” Draco said, which was almost true. Aurelius _was_ waiting for him, after all. Potter didn’t need to know that Draco had forgotten to buy cereals. That wasn’t the essential part of his sentence, anyway.

Potter shot him a confused glance and then quickly looked back to where Blaise and Ginny had disappeared.

“All right. Nice of you to drop by,” Potter replied after a few seconds, running a hand through his hair and not meeting his eyes again. Had his voice gone colder as well? Did he think that Blaise and Ginny were up to something?

Draco decided that he didn’t care and Apparated home. After all, this had nothing to do with him.


	12. Uprising [Wednesday, November 10th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Weingi, BlaseBlanco, Superfan1224, ThatBoringOne and For_Aslan!  
> I'm really happy you guys like this as much as I do and I love reading your speculations!

When Draco knocked at Blaise’s door for their usual Wednesday Dinner, he wasn’t home. Sooky opened the door and informed him that the Master had yet to come back from the workshop. Draco declined her offer to wait for him in the parlour and borrowed Blaise’s owl instead.

_Blaise,_

_This is the third time you stood me up in the last four (!!) weeks. I’ve gone home to plot my revenge. If you know what is good for you, you’ll be there in the next 30 minutes. Bring pizza, or else._

_D. M._

~o~

According to his stopwatch, his doorbell rang exactly twenty-nine minutes later. Draco threw his book onto the table and went to open the door when he heard something unexpected – people talking at his front door.

“Blaise, stop fucking with us,” someone said right outside. And fucking hell, he knew _that_ voice. “This is a Muggle neighbourhood. Why would _Malfoy_ ever live here?”

“Yeah, we’re not _entirely_ stupid,” a female voice agreed. “And only _one_ of us hit his head lately.”

“Hey!” the first voice protested. “Is that how you show your love for me?”

Draco opened the door and was greeted with the sight of Blaise, carrying four large pizza boxes. Ginny and Potter were standing on either side of him, shouldering a Firebolt Gold and a Lightning Blast each. All of them were dressed in _extremely_ tight-fitting long-sleeved shirts and trackies.

Draco’s stomach dropped, as did his face. Fuck this, Potter was _seriously_ fit. It was simply unfair that he could look even better in _that_ than half-naked. Well, maybe not _better_ -better. Draco would have to see him without the clothes again to really be able to compare and _fuck_ , where did all _that_ come from all of a sudden?!

“Surprise!” Blaise exclaimed, pushing past him into the hallway. “Move it, I think _she_ is glued to her window already.”

Draco looked across the street at Mrs. Capitelli’s house, where the curtains were moving suspiciously. It was dark enough already that Draco was hopeful she wouldn’t be able to make out what exactly Potter and Ginny were carrying. He still hurried to close the door behind them. The two of them exchanged confused looks.

“You don’t _really_ live here, right?” Potter asked suspiciously, placing their brooms in a neat row by the door.

“Why _not_?” Draco asked pointedly, leading them into the kitchen. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You’ve got a _fridge_!” Potter said, opening the grey monstrosity Draco stored his leftovers in.

Draco examined the thing. The previous owner (a sweet old lady who had to move into a retirement home) had never told him its name, and _Blaise_ didn’t know either, of course.

“Oh, is that what it is called?”

“ _Yes_! What are _you_ calling it?” Potter asked.

“The cooling cabinet, of course. That’s what it does.”

Blaise and Ginny had already cleared the table from books and parchment and were now busy cutting the pizzas.

“Why is the light not working?” Potter said, leaning into the fridge and tapping the glass tube at the top.

“Is there supposed to be light? That would be _really_ convenient,” Draco said. Why had nobody ever told him about the food light?

Potter closed the door and went to look behind the fridge.

“ _Malfoy!_ It’s not even plugged in!”

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about, Potter.”

Potter was now handling one of the tiny white levers in the wall. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting, but it clearly was not happening.

“There is no electricity!”

“Well of course not, it gets confused when there’s magic,” Draco said. “Everybody knows that.”

“Then _why_ are you storing food in your fridge?” Potter sounded exasperated now.

Draco really didn’t know why this bothered Potter so much, but it definitely was a stupid question. “Because that’s its purpose?”

Potter threw his hands up in frustration. “But it’s not working!”

“It is so! I put a cooling charm on it!”

Blaise and Ginny were now sitting at the table, watching them argue. “Wow, this really _is_ a train wreck,” she said under her breath.

Draco glared at her, but instead of cowering she held his gaze and took a bite of her pizza demonstratively. Well, he couldn’t argue with that.

Draco sat down next to Blaise, and Potter took the seat opposite him. Blaise handed him his Hawaiian pizza and they began to eat.

“Where’s Aurelius?” Blaise said, probably to change the subject.

“He’s asleep upstairs. Probably waited up for me all night, the clingy bastard,” Draco said, not quite managing to sound annoyed. “And then he hid my alarm clock. I overslept by an hour!”

“Ah, you should be thankful there’s someone waiting for you at home,” Blaise said. “All I’ve got is Sooky.”

Draco was pretty sure he saw Potter flinch. He looked at Ginny, but she seemed oblivious. Potter was staring at him, shaking his head slightly. Draco smirked and Potter’s eyes narrowed.

“Well, she _does_ look out for you, doesn’t she?” Draco said ostentatiously.

Potter kicked him under the table, hard. His legs were definitely back at full strength. Draco kept a straight face. Barely. His shin was throbbing quite a bit.

“I guess so …” Blaise agreed hesitantly, glancing at Ginny as well.

Didn’t he want her to know about his one-night stand with Potter? _Was_ it even just a _one_ -night stand anymore?

“Hey, Malfoy? _Why_ are all your mugs on the floor?”

Very smooth, Potter.

Draco followed his gaze. His mugs were, indeed, on the floor in front of the couch. He had been so absorbed in his reading that he hadn’t even noticed.

“You know what? I have no idea. You’d have to ask Aurelius,” Draco said earnestly.

This didn’t seem to be the answer Potter wanted to hear. He rolled his eyes and was suddenly very interested in his pizza. Draco exchanged a confused look with Blaise, but he just shrugged.

“So,” Draco said casually, like he wasn’t dying to know the answer. “How did you come to bring these two to our Wednesday Dinner?”

“We’ve been working on the Lightning Blast all day. Didn’t even remember to eat lunch,” Blaise said excitedly.

And then they were talking about broomsticks for the rest of the meal.

“Hey, it's Bill’s birthday this month,” Ginny said when all the pizza was gone. “You two should definitely come to the party. It won't be as quiet as the last, though.”

“ _Quiet_?” Draco said disbelieving. “I think a Weasley get-together stops being _quiet_ as soon as it passes the Three-Weasleys-Mark.”

“You'll be there then?” she said, grinning. “It's on November twenty-ninth. The party starts at eight at Shell Cottage.”

“ _Of course_ we'll be there!” Blaise agreed instantly.

Draco was more hesitant. The last party he had attended hadn't ended all that pleasantly and he wasn't too keen on witnessing any more of the love triangle between Potter, Blaise and Ginny.

Ginny seemed to sense his lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, Draco! You can bring Aurelius if you like,” she offered. “Then he won't have to pine for you all night. _Ouch_ , Harry!”

Potter had apparently kicked her under the table and was now glaring at her, probably because she didn't take this as quietly as Draco had. Well, at least now he knew that Potter wasn't keen on having him there either.

But why had he come here, then? Had Blaise and Ginny talked him into it, like she was trying with Draco now? Or maybe he hadn’t actually _believed_ that they would be visiting Draco? He and Ginny _had_ been very surprised to see him here.

“I have the night shift,” Draco lied effortlessly. “I'll see if I can switch it around.”

Which meant, of course, that he would most definitely _not_ make it.


	13. See You in Everything [Monday, November 29th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, where I live it's tomorrow already :) I hope you're ready for this!  
> Enormous thanks to Fandomwarriorqueen, Weingi, BlaseBlanco, Caterine2403, serilla and AlluraBelle.  
> Also, I don't exactly speak Spanish, but I think I got the gist thanks to google translate, so feel free to leave comments in any language, really! :D 
> 
> Title: Matty Mullins - See you in everything

Being friends with Blaise Zabini often had its perks. Blaise was almost always in a good mood, incredibly charming and the life of every party. And he could make almost _anything_ happen, be it a reservation at a fancy restaurant or a meeting with some high-up Ministry official. Blaise either knew someone or he at least knew someone who knew someone.

The downside to being friends with Blaise Zabini was that he could make almost anything happen. If Blaise wanted something, he could not be deterred. And Blaise wanted Draco to go to that party with him.

When Draco left his house for work on Monday evening, Blaise was waiting for him, leaning against his hedge.

Draco stopped dead in his tracks and instantly wished he had just Apparated from inside. Screw the neighbours. He’d rather they get suspicious about him never actually leaving for work than endure this.

“Draco, you need to get out more,” Blaise said gravely. “Go back in and put something on that will get you laid.”

“I already told you. I can't go with you; I have to go to work.”

“No, you don't. I talked to Grimm and he was willing to switch shifts with you. You're welcome.”

“You did what?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Yes, indeed. I know you already asked him, but he seems to have forgotten,” Blaise said casually. “Seemed to think you switched to night shift only a week ago. Absurd, I know. If that were _true_ , you’d have to have done it on purpose so you wouldn’t be free tonight. He isn't getting any younger, I reckon.”

“Blaise –” Draco started, but Blaise turned him around by the shoulders and led him back inside.

“No arguments! You can't rely on the Malfoy name anymore; you need to start networking. And nowadays that includes anybody that Potter is friendly with.”

“I know _you_ , don't I? You seem rather friendly with him.”

“It's not a network if it only consists of one person,” Blaise said, leading him upstairs.

“Fine,” Draco relented. Not that there was any way for him to get out of this. “But I'm bringing Aurelius.”

“Good idea! He's a chick magnet!”

“Blaise!”

“Don't worry, the men will like him as well,” Blaise assured him. He snatched the pullover Draco had pulled from his wardrobe out of his hand and threw it somewhere beside his bed. “No green, you don't have to remind them you're a Slytherin.”

And then Blaise swept him out of the way and dove into his wardrobe himself, which was why Draco ended up in black, form-fitting jeans and a light-blue shirt that allegedly brought out his eyes. Not that Draco knew how one could highlight eyes that were such a boring grey. Now, _Potter's_ eyes on the other hand ...

And _why_ was he thinking about Potter's eyes now? They weren't even talking about him right now! What was _wrong_ with him? It was probably because he had seen so much of Potter lately. He would just try to keep out of his way tonight and everything would go back to normal eventually.

~o~

Draco was hammered. Bill's party was nothing like the ones he had attended at the Burrow. There were no grown-ups present (if one followed Draco’s example and thought of grown-ups as people over forty years old), but instead a very large crowd of young wizards and witches. Some of them were Curse Breakers at Gringotts (and most of those were probably Gryffindors). Then there were a ton of students from Bill's graduating class and a respectable amount of French people.

Draco had managed to avoid Potter so far, which was not hard at all, since he was notably _absent_. Though he had resolved to stay out of Potter's way, Draco found that he was scanning the crowd for him with increasing frequency. It was only because his absence was so strange. _Rude_ , even. No other reason.

Draco had talked to Luna and Thomas, Longbottom and Abbott, as well as Granger and all of the Weasley children, but he had not yet seen a single stupid lock of Potter's stupid hair. He had heard his name mentioned several times, but always by people who were wondering if he wasn't attending, and none of them were people Draco knew.

Draco had been given a glass of Firewhisky as soon as they arrived and he hadn't let go of it since. The glass was charmed to refill itself constantly, which was a blessing because Draco had taken to have a sip whenever he thought of Potter or his stupid bright eyes or his stupid not-quite-curly hair or his stupid, thoroughly fit body. _Stupid._

It was half past twelve when Draco decided he had enough. He could barely walk in a straight line anymore and his head was swimming, which was rather pathetic for a Malfoy. He was supposed to always keep his composure, but here he was, smashed because a guy he definitely _didn't_ fancy wasn't here. Blaise was right – Draco was in desperate need of getting laid.

He would just go home now. Right now. He would just ... just find Aurelius and _then_ go home. Curse that dog, why did he always have to make his life harder than it had to be?

He went over to where Ginny was playing a game of butterbeer pong with some of Bill's former classmates.

“Hey, have you seen Aurelius?” he asked, trying to focus on her face. Wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

“Oh, did you bring him?” she said excitedly. “No, I haven't seen him at _all_. What does he look like?”

“Er –” Draco had trouble concentrating. “Golden, medium height and brown eyes, I guess? And he's really friendly, ran off as soon as we got here.”

“I'll send him your way if I see him,” she promised and threw a small ball into one of the cups on the opposite side of the table. The boy next to her cheered loudly.

Draco made his way through the garden and also searched the kitchen, where Aurelius liked to spend most of his time at home. When that didn't yield any results, he went outside again and then down some winding stairs until he reached the shore. Golden retrievers _loved_ water, right?

The further he got away from the cottage the quieter it was, and when Draco reached the bathing jetty, he could only just hear the beat of the music. Aurelius was there, lying next to a young man who was sitting cross-legged, stroking his fur.

“ _Lee!_ ” Draco exclaimed, plonking himself down on Aurelius' other side. “You're a fairy friend! No, that's not right ... a fair ... something.”

“Fair-weather friend?” the stranger suggested. Draco looked at him, squinting his eyes to stop his vision from blurring.

“Hey, did anyone ever tell you that you look a bit like Potter?” Draco asked bluntly. “Only your eyes are the wrong colour ... and your hair is not as stupid, I guess. And then there's the _scar_ , of course. Be glad you don’t have _that_.”

The guy, maybe a few years older than Draco, looked at him perplexedly with his bright blue eyes. He ruffled his wavy brown hair with one hand while the other kept stroking Aurelius. His forehead was indeed unscathed, but he had roughly the same olive skin tone as Potter. If Draco squinted his eyes some more, he could probably pretend it _was_ Potter. And Draco had to stop thinking about Potter, for fuck's sake.

“I get that, sometimes,” Not-Potter said, screwing up his face.

“Don't like to hear it?” Draco asked. His eyes were fixed on the waves splashing against the shore, which certainly didn’t help with his light-headedness.

“He seems like a big-headed bastard, doesn't he?” Not-Potter went on. “So what, he killed Vo- er … You-Know-Who. Big fucking deal.”

Draco arched one of his brows, which wasn't that easy, because his face felt somewhat numb. Whether this was due to the cold wind or the alcohol, he couldn't say.

“What?” Not-Potter said. “ _You're_ no fan of him either, are you?”

“He's not half bad,” Draco shrugged. “ _Unbelievably_ stubborn, but at least he knows what he wants and goes for it. I can respect that.”

The guy frowned. “Are you _friends_ or something?”

“I wouldn't go _that_ far. We're friendly, I guess.”

“Right, I forgot. You treated him, didn't you? It said so in the Prophet.” Not-Potter leaned a bit closer, suddenly very interested. “What was that like? Got any good stories?”

Draco tickled Aurelius between the ears, making his tail thump against the wood.

“I'd rather not talk about Potter,” Draco said shortly, because he also didn't want to _think_ about Potter. “I'm not allowed to, anyways. Confididenti-thingy ... you know. Means I legally can’t.”

They were silent for a moment, both stroking Aurelius and looking out at the water.

“Who names their dog _Lee_?” the man said suddenly.

“Name's Aurelius,” Draco said. “ _Way_ too long to shout. Should've thought of that when I named him.”

“ _That's_ Aurelius?” the man asked sharply, a note of disbelief in his voice. Draco nodded confusedly.

“And I'm guessing he's not an Animagus?”

“An – _why_ would he be an Animagus?” Draco laughed.

But Draco never got to know the answer, because suddenly, the guy was kissing him. Draco's mind was moving a bit slower than usual, which was why he froze on the spot, one hand still on Aurelius' head. Not-Potter backed off almost instantly.

“I – sorry, I thought you were –” he stammered, apparently horrified.

Draco's mind was racing. Not-Potter had kissed him. He had been kissed. He had a crush on Harry fucking Potter, which was a total fucking _disaster_ , and here was a guy who looked like his older brother, kissing him willingly. And maybe this was an _opportunity_. Maybe this was what he needed to get Potter out of his system.

“No, I am,” Draco said roughly and then he was pulling the guy in by the neck and kissing him fervently.

He barely noticed when Aurelius startled and scarpered and he certainly didn't care. Draco had not kissed anyone for over a year and this guy was _good_. Suddenly he didn't feel cold at all anymore and when the guy began nipping at his bottom lip, Draco grew bold as well and slid a hand under his t-shirt.

Not-Potters torso was wiry and cool under his fingertips – exactly like Draco imagined Potter's body would feel like. Scratch that, Draco had examined Potter enough times, he knew what he felt like. _Great_.

And with his eyes closed now, it wasn't hard at all to imagine it was Potter who pushed him onto his back by the shoulders. Potter, who promptly followed and was leaning over him now, his forearms resting on either side of Draco's head. Potter, who kissed him hungrily while Draco's hands moved from his flat stomach to his muscular back.

Not-Potter broke the kiss to draw a deep, shuddering breath and something fell out of the front of his t-shirt, landing on Draco's chest. He looked down and saw that it was a silver pendant on a delicate golden chain, but before he could get a clearer view, the guy had already snatched it up and put it back.

But the spell seemed to be broken. Not-Potter got up on his knees, shot a quick glance to the top of the stairs and then looked at him, clearly on the fence. Draco propped himself up, head swimming and very confused.

“Sorry, I've got to go,” the guy mumbled and then he was on his feet and almost sprinting up the steps, leaving Draco with nothing but a racing heart and mind.

Draco stayed on the jetty for a good fifteen minutes after the guy had fled. When he finally had himself under control again, he straightened his clothes and went back up to find Aurelius and then bail.

The golden retriever was napping at Granger's feet. Draco approached her casually, trying not to look like he had just made out with a total stranger.

“Hey Granger,” he said friendly. “I'll have to hijack my dog now.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” she said, giving Aurelius a final pat on the side. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes, thank you, it was really ... something else,” he said, bending down to rouse Aurelius.

“That's one way to put it,” she smiled. “So, did Harry get a chance to talk to you?”

Draco furrowed his brow. “No, I haven't seen him at all tonight. Is he here?” Potter had wanted to talk to him? He hadn’t even _wanted_ Draco to come!

“Yes, of course,” Granger said like it was a dumb question. “I think I saw him go down to the shore a while ago.”

Draco looked up at once as a cold shiver went down his spine.

Had Potter seen him make out with his look-alike? Would he know that their uncanny resemblance was the _reason_ Draco had made out with him? Would he avoid him even more than he was already? Would he tell someone? This was bad. Really, _really_ bad.

“Draco?” Granger said hesitantly. “Are you alright? You don't look so well.”

“Fine,” Draco said feebly and he hurriedly took Aurelius and bailed. No need to find Blaise. He would figure out that he had gone home eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sorry :)


	14. Slither [Friday, December 10th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is one of my favourite chapters :)
> 
> As always, big thanks to BlaseBlanco,Miss_Estelle_Raven, Caterine2403, serilla and Juleewulee for commenting!  
> Can't believe all the possibilities you came up with for Aurelius! Especially considering he licked Draco's check in Chapter 4 and then Draco walked him :D
> 
> Title: Bohnes - Slither

Potter must have caught them; Draco was sure of it. He hadn’t seen Potter for almost two weeks. The Quidditch season was over, which meant injuries were at a low, if not necessarily non-existent.

Potter hadn’t been at St. Mungo’s since the party, which was a rather long hiatus for him. He usually came in at least once a week, as the Falcons’ daily trainings were still brutal. Draco knew for a fact that Potter hadn’t been to the hospital, because he kept checking his case files daily. For medical reasons.

Blaise, on the other hand, had seen Potter several times and for hours on end. They were still working on the Lightning Blast together and Blaise had been waxing lyrically about their progress over Wednesday Dinner, which had taken place at Draco’s again. Blaise had been almost forty minutes late. Draco didn’t want to know what had made him forget the time.

For a wild moment, Draco had dared to think that maybe Potter would be accompanying Blaise again, but that hadn’t happened. Blaise had told him that he _had_ invited Potter, but he had feigned a slim excuse and then left the workshop in a hurry.

Draco didn’t know if he should be disappointed or relieved. He wasn’t sure if he could look into Potter’s eyes ever again, but at the same time, he longed to see him, maybe exchange some insults and be glared at. That always made him feel better.

Now it was Friday evening and Draco was sitting on his couch with a book in his lap, staring into the roaring fireplace and thinking about Potter. It wasn’t that he had planned to do it – he had been reading about rare curse scars, but then the book had mentioned Potter’s scar in passing and Draco’s concentration had gone out of the window.

Draco really didn’t want to know how long he had been staring into the flames when the doorbell rang. His stomach grumbled on cue and Draco grabbed his wallet and went to open the door.

It wasn’t the delivery boy in front of his door. In fact, there was nobody at all. Draco looked up and down the street, but the only person he could see was Mrs. Capitelli, who was clipping her rose bushes. The Jones’ boys had probably played a prank on him again.

“I fucking _hate_ children,” Draco muttered to himself and motioned to close the door again, when something blocked it suddenly.

“Malfoy! It’s me,” whispered an urgent voice. And Draco knew perfectly well who _‘me’_ was.

“ _Potter_?”

But Potter, still invisible, had already pushed past him into the house. Draco closed the door mechanically and Potter appeared out of thin air, the Invisibility Cloak in one hand and curled in his other arm was –

“Is that a _boomslang_?” Draco asked, panic-stricken, and he retreated a few steps until his back hit the wall. “Are you _mental_?”

“Don’t worry, she won’t hurt you,” Potter said, hanging the Invisibility Cloak on his clothes-stand and then rushing into his kitchen uninvited.

“ _She_?” Draco was sounding a bit hysterical now. “Potter, that is a _highly_ venomous snake!”

“She was attacked by a raptor. I found her near the pitch,” Potter said, completely ignoring what Draco just said. “You’ve got a dog. You know how to heal pets, right?”

“ _Pets_?” Draco squeaked. He wasn’t even ashamed about it. That was a highly logical course of action, unlike what Potter was currently doing. “That’s a _murder_ noodle!”

“Malfoy, I promise you she's not dangerous,” he said, clearing the table with his wand and then placing the snake on it carefully. “Trust me on this, alright?”

“That's a lot of trust you ask for!” Draco said, still standing in the door, as far away as possible from the dangerous animal Potter had just delivered into his (until now) perfectly safe home.

“Well, _I_ trust _you_ , so could _you_ please trust me too?” Potter pleaded.

Draco looked down at the snake. It was wrapped in bloody bandages and squirmed oddly, clearly in pain.

“Why didn't you go to the Scamander Centre?” Draco complained. “They're experts!”

“I trust _you_ ,” Potter repeated, but Draco could hear what he didn't want to say outright: Potter trusted _him_ , but he didn't trust _them._

Draco took a hesitant step forward. Potter sighed with relief and sat down on the kitchen chair, stroking the serpent's head with two fingers.

“Are you actually suicidal?” Draco exclaimed, taking a sudden step forward to wrench Potter's hand away.

The snake whipped around, baring its fangs and hissing at him, ready to strike. Potter pointed his wand at him with lightning speed and Draco was pushed backwards against the wall.

“She thinks you were going to attack her,” Potter said reproachfully. “Watch what you're doing!”

“ _You're_ one to talk,” Draco shot back. “ _You_ just went and touched it. Did you apply those bandages too?”

“She knows I'm not going to hurt her,” Potter said, stroking her head soothingly.

“Well, then you should _tell_ her that I don't want to hurt her, either,” Draco said sarcastically.

And then, to his great surprise, Potter _did_. At least Draco assumed that he did, because he couldn't understand a word of what Potter was hissing at the snake. It seemed to work though. She slackened and hid her fangs. Draco took a careful step forward, but the serpent didn't seem to want to attack him anymore, though she still eyed Draco suspiciously.

“I thought you couldn't do that anymore?”

“Yeah, well, that's called _'protecting your privacy'_ ,” Potter said, unwinding the bandages at the same time.

Draco grimaced at the sight. The snake had several deep, lacerated wounds that could well have been caused by the talons of a predator bird.

“That doesn't look good,” he said grimly, rolling up the right sleeve of his sweater and taking out his wand.

And then Draco was in his element. He didn't dare put the snake under, because he had never actually healed a snake and didn't know how much sedation she could take. He began with cleaning the wounds, always keeping an eye on the serpent's head. She had apparently allowed Potter to keep it still, which was somewhat reassuring.

Draco started on knitting the torn flesh back together while Potter talked to it quietly. Potter's Parsel wasn't harsh and cold like _His_ had been. It flowed steadily, naturally, and Draco could feel himself relax along with the serpent.

It only took ten minutes for him to close the deepest wounds and he was just getting started on healing the skin when the doorbell rang again, startling them.

“Are you expecting someone?” Potter asked, glancing at the kitchen window.

Since it was already getting dark outside, this was rather pointless. Draco shook his head, still concentrating on the wounded animal on his table. Potter said something to the serpent and got up, his wand already drawn.

“Stay here,” he said authoritatively, sliding into the hallway.

Draco's stomach rumbled again and suddenly he remembered. “Potter! _Don't_ kill him, please!” he yelled. “It's just my food!”

“Since when do owls know how to ring a doorbell?” Potter yelled back suspiciously.

“It's from a Muggle place! Just pay him and take it, okay? I think my wallet is still somewhere on the floor. Pretty sure I dropped it when you _jumped_ me.”

Potter was silent for a few moments, then –

“You've got _Muggle_ money?”

“Don't act so surprised! And get a move on, before he runs off with our food.”

Potter was back a minute later, two bags in hand. “Are you _sure_ he's a Muggle?” he asked, unconvinced.

“How would _I_ know? I didn't see him, did I?” Draco said distractedly, still working on the snake.

“Indian teenager with really white teeth and a _nose-ring_ ,” Potter described, unpacking four large containers.

“Yeah, that's Sanjay. He's _definitely_ a Muggle.”

“But he kept staring at my scar,” Potter grumbled.

“Yeah, well, that's probably because it's _massive_ , isn't it? Really stares you in the face.”

He could feel Potter glaring at him. “I'll hex you later,” Potter said shortly, opening a container. “That's Chinese.”

“Yeah, so?”

“The kid was _Indian_.”

“Don't be so narrow-minded and stop criticising my food,” Draco said and then, when he heard munching, “And stop _eating_ my food.”

“Ah, but you said it was _our_ food, just a minute ago.”

“I most certainly did not!” Draco protested.

“I've got the memory to prove it!”

“Yeah? Want me to take you up on it with a Legilimens?” Draco smirked and put away his wand. “There, good as new.”

The snake seemed to think so too, because she wasn't lying flat anymore but coiling this way and that, as if testing for pain. Her bright green body was punctuated with slashes of lighter skin where Draco had healed her wounds, and there was a tiny scar forming on her underside that Draco could do nothing about, but all in all she was looking good.

Potter said something to her and she hissed back. Potter grinned at him, apparently satisfied with her answer.

“She says to tell you she loves you,” Potter said, now rummaging in his drawers for cutlery. Raised in a barn.

“Did she really?” Draco said, disbelieving. Could snakes even be thankful?

Potter sat down at the table, handed him a fork and a plate, and began distributing _his_ food. Draco didn't even try to stop him, as it wouldn't do any good anyway. The serpent had slithered down onto one of the empty chairs.

“Yeah, you're her hero now,” Potter grinned. “They’ll open an animal clinic in your honour and name it _Saint Malfoy’s Centre for Slitherin’ Things_. Guess what kind of animal they’ll put on the emblem?”

Draco really looked at Potter for the first time that day. Before, he had been too distracted by the deadly animal in his home, but now he could actually focus on him.

Potter was wearing his black, close-fitting Quidditch gear, sans the grey-and-white robe. His trackies had grass stains all over them and his hair was just ridiculous – like he had just fallen from his broom and tumbled all over the pitch. He was still wearing his arm guards and the left one had two very odd holes in it, like the leather had been etched away.

“Potter, did she _bite_ you?” Draco asked suspiciously.

“ _No_?” Potter tried, immediately hiding his forearm under the table.

Draco went around the table and seized his arm. There were a few smaller holes next to the big, corroded ones, definitely bite marks.

“You said she was harmless!”

“She was _scared_ and I hadn’t gotten a chance to _talk_ to her yet!”

“You’re unbelievable!” Draco said, unfastening the damaged arm guard.

“Nothing _happened;_ I’m completely fine!” Potter protested, wrenching his arm out of Draco’s grasp.

“You’re an idiot, that’s what you are!” Draco said. “Boomslang venom is very slow-acting, it could take _hours_ until you even notice that something is wrong, and by then it’ll be too late!”

“ _Fine_ ,” Potter said, taking off both arm guards and placing them neatly on the last empty chair. “But be quick about it, I’m starving.”

Draco pushed up the sleeve. Almost instantly, like he suddenly remembered, Potter tried to wrench his arm away again, but Draco held his wrist in a vice-like grip. There were no fang marks on his arm, but several bruises in all stages of healing. Draco looked up at him in disbelieve.

“I can explain!” Potter said instantly, but then didn’t follow up on it.

“Please do,” Draco said cooly.

“Er … Quidditch accident?”

“Yes, I can see that. And you didn’t heal them, because …?”

Potter dragged a hand through his hair, which didn’t make it any better. “It doesn’t even hurt that much, I just forgot about them,” he said unconvincingly.

Draco raised one eyebrow and poked a rather large, purple bruise. Potter flinched mightily and slapped his hand away.

“Ouch! Fine, I’m rubbish at healing spells, okay?”

“You could’ve put arnica on it, at least!”

“I must have misplaced it. Now stop interrogating me!” Potter pulled his sleeve back down hastily.

“Take off your shirt.”

“I – you – what?!” Potter stammered, crossing his arms in front of his chest tightly, as if waiting for Draco to jump him. “I’m not stripping in your kitchen!”

“Would you rather do it somewhere else?” Draco said, drawing his wand.

Potter stared at him, his bright green eyes flitting across Draco’s face. Draco felt exposed all of a sudden, felt as if this was the first time somebody really looked at him. He swallowed nervously. Why was his throat so dry?

Draco knew that Potter wouldn’t budge. Potter had never before made a fuss about getting half-naked in front of him, but now he did. He had seen him and his doppelganger together and now he felt uncomfortable. Perfect.

But Draco had to _see_.

“Strip or I’ll tell the Prophet about your Parseltongue,” he said, disgusted with himself.

If looks could kill, Draco would have dropped right then and there. Potter grabbed the hem of his shirt with both hands and pulled it over his head slowly, cursing under his breath. Draco heard the word _“Slytherin”_ several times and felt so very, very dirty. But that thought vanished as soon as he saw Potter’s torso.

There were bruises, but they were not the worst of it – on the side of his stomach, there was a new, round scar, several tones lighter than the surrounding skin. It seemed to stem from a puncture wound.

“What did you _do_?” Draco said faintly, circling around him once. There was another, similar scar on the back, where the exit wound had been.

“It was just the fat tissue!” Potter said defensively, crossing both arms in front of his stomach.

“Just some fat – of which you have practically none, by the way – so it’s okay to just walk around with a gaping wound and let it heal all by itself?” Draco said angrily.

“It wasn’t _gaping_! It was just a metal rod that went through and Blaise immediately healed it, so it’s all good now!”

“You let _Blaise_ heal that? And what a fucking good job he did too. Just look at that scar – completely unnecessary!”

“I’m sorry my _scar_ offends you somehow!” Potter yelled. “I just didn’t have time to go to Mungo’s alright? Get off your high hippogriff!”

“Why don’t you just save us some time and admit you’ve been avoiding me?!”

“Because I _haven’t_ been avoiding you!”

“Quit your bullshit, Potter,” Draco said cooly. “I _know_ you went down to the shore, alright?”

Potter just looked at him open-mouthed and did what he always did when he didn’t know what else to do – he messed up his hair some more.

“How …?” he finally managed.

“Granger told me,” Draco said and added, when Potter opened his mouth angrily, “It was afterwards and she didn’t know what she was actually telling me.”

Had he just defended Granger against Potter? Something must be seriously wrong with him.

“And now?” Potter asked, crossing his arms again, this time in front of his bare chest. It was only now that Draco noticed the necklace – two miniature wings of a Snitch on a thread.

“What do you mean _‘now’_?” Draco said emotionlessly. “Now _nothing_. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. It was just a kiss, nothing else. I was really drunk. And if it helps, I wouldn’t have done it if I had known.”

Potter turned his back on him then and put his shirt back on, which took rather long. Draco suspected that his injuries were more painful than he let on. Fine by him. Potter could stand to suffer a little if he didn’t want Draco’s help.

When Potter faced him again, he seemed oddly calm all of a sudden. “So, it meant nothing to you?” he asked flatly.

“It wasn’t even that good,” Draco lied through his teeth. “Listen, I like to think we were finally getting to a point where we can tolerate each other, maybe even spend some time as something resembling friends. I’d really like to keep it that way. So, if we could just forget any of that ever happened?”

Potter nodded shortly, but Draco had a feeling that his heart wasn’t in it. Getting back on Potter’s good side – if he even had been there before – would likely take some time and effort. Well, Draco had nothing better to do, anyway.

Draco took out his wand (Potter flinched again) and floated their plates over onto the coffee table in front of the sofa, where he sat down. He looked over at Potter, who didn’t show the slightest inclination to follow.

“Sit down and eat, will you?” Draco said plainly.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Potter said, bending over the snake, which was now curled up in his chair, her head hidden somewhere beneath her body.

Draco knew bloody well that he was just searching for ways to avoid looking at him. Some Gryffindor he was.

“Well, you already did. The _polite_ thing would be to stay for dinner, now,” Draco said, trying to appear at least a bit friendly. “Besides, you shouldn’t wake her now, anyway.”

Potter came over reluctantly, but then he merely picked at his food listlessly.

“What’s wrong _now_?” Draco sighed.

“Nothing. I’m just not that hungry,” Potter said blankly.

“You said you were starving!”

“Well, I’m not anymore.”

Just then, there was the sound of paws on the stairs and before Draco could tell Potter how stupid he was, Aurelius came in. He didn’t even seem to register that there was a snake in his territory, but walked right past her and jumped onto the sofa next to Potter, who instantly started to tickle his favourite spot between the ears. Aurelius’ tail was working overtime. When his ears were apparently satisfied, the golden retriever rolled over and presented his belly.

“That little whore,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“They say that dogs and their owners are often alike,” Potter mused, apparently already in far better spirits than he had been all evening. “But I really don’t see it. He’s much friendlier than you are.”

Draco flung a spring roll at Potter, who couldn’t catch it, because both his hands were busy rubbing Aurelius’ belly. It hit his chest and Aurelius caught it in his mouth expertly, whacking Potter in the face with his upside-down tail.

“That’s a good boy,” Draco said praisingly.

Potter leaned over and, fast as lightning, stole his last spring roll in retaliation.

“Hey, stop stealing my food!”

“There’s _no way_ you can eat all that by yourself!” Potter exclaimed, gesturing at the containers that were still on his kitchen table. “Why did you even order all that stuff?”

“I like to take the leftovers to work,” Draco lied.

He sure as hell wasn’t about to tell Potter that the delivery boys always looked at him pityingly whenever he ordered just for himself. It was, after all, a small neighbourhood and he was sure people talked amongst themselves about Draco Malfoy, the eternal bachelor.

Mrs. Capitelli had tried to set him up with her granddaughter more than once, until Draco had just up and told her that he fancied men, thank you very much. She hadn’t tried advertising her granddaughter after that, but was now constantly telling him about men she suspected to be gay – Mrs. Waverly from her Bridge Club had a nephew who wore an earring, for example. Also, her other granddaughter was apparently a lesbian. Draco didn’t know why he needed to know that. He was pretty sure _she_ didn’t want to date him.

“Reasonable,” Potter agreed. “The food there is disgusting.”

He had taken up his plate again and was shovelling food into his mouth. Draco debated making a snide remark, but ultimately decided against it. He was trying to get on Potter’s good side, for fuck’s sake.

“So, the _food_ is the reason you always bail when I try to have you admitted?” Draco asked instead, knowing that it sure as hell was not.

“Yeah, why not,” Potter said and then, as subtle as a Bludger to the face, immediately changed the subject. “How did you come to own a golden retriever?”

Draco looked at Aurelius fondly, who was now splayed across Potter’s lap. “He was training to be a service dog for the neighbours’ daughter, but failed miserably. He knows all the tricks, but he just does them whenever he feels like it,” Draco explained. “So, I took the loser in.”

“Aw, that’s really touching,” Potter said, looking at him doe-eyed, clearly mocking him. “Don’t tell me Draco Malfoy has a heart?”

“Don’t tell,” Draco said seriously, trying to memorise the way his name had sounded coming from Potter’s mouth. And wasn’t he just pathetic?

Potter mimed locking his mouth and then swallowing the key, which didn’t even make sense.

“No wonder you don’t ever shut up,” Draco laughed. “Can’t even shut your trap properly.”

“Well, keeping quiet never got me anywhere!”

“And running your mouth did?”

“I’d like to think so,” Potter pensively. “I can’t think of anything right _now,_ but I’ll get back to you.”

“No need, I remember now,” Draco grinned. “It was detention.”

Potter seemed to think the best way to punish him was to steal his food. Draco was left to stare at the spot where his fortune cookie had been seconds before.

“Hey, it’s bad luck to take another man’s fortune cookie!” he complained, holding out his hand as Potter tore open the wrapper.

Potter held his gaze and licked the cookie once, then held the wet cookie out to him.

“Still want it?” Potter offered, grinning deviously.

Draco had the sudden urge to grab him and wipe that stupid look from his face. Preferably with his tongue. Give back as you were given, and all that. But he wouldn’t do that, of course. He was a Malfoy and a Malfoy always kept his temper. He contented himself to get up and search the plastic bags instead.

“I’ll just eat yours, there you have it.” Draco smirked to himself as he searched.

Potter just watched him, grin still firmly in place. “You do that.”

“Did you take the other one too?” Draco asked incredulously, turning the bags inside out.

“Didn’t have to,” Potter grinned. “The kid apologised profusely, because they only gave you _one_. They’ve got you all figured out.”

“You _knowingly_ ate the only fortune cookie?”

“ _Yep_ ,” Potter said, popping the p.

“How positively Slytherin of you.”

“You take that right back!” Potter said, pointing a finger at him. He’d probably jumped to his feet as well, had Aurelius not been there. That was definitely a service the dog was doing him.

“I _do_ take it back. No Slytherin would have manners this appalling,” Draco conceded, settling into the armchair opposite Potter.

“There, you can have the fortune.” Potter slid it across the coffee table. “That’s selfless, right?”

“That’s calculating, which is a very Slytherin quality,” Draco disagreed, unfolding the paper while Potter rolled his eyes and huffed.

“’ _Help, I'm being held prisoner in a Chinese cookie factory’_ ,” Draco read out loud, handing it back to Potter. “I think that’s addressed to your hero complex _._ ”

“I’ll get to that later,” Potter said, pocketing the tiny paper.

They were silent for a few moments, both busy cleaning their plates. When he was finished, Draco pulled his legs onto the arm chair while Potter stretched himself out next to Aurelius, stroking his fur lazily.

“Ever thought about getting a dog?” Draco asked, watching Aurelius blink sleepily.

“Can’t. I’ve got a snake now, haven’t I?” Potter murmured over the crackle of the fireplace.

“Potter, you can’t keep a deadly serpent as your _pet_.”

“Too late,” Potter said simply, looking over at the snake fondly.

Draco knew he couldn’t win this one and decided to count his losses. He turned his body sideways, letting his legs hang over the arm rest. His feet were now dangling in front of the fire, getting nice and toasty.

“Are you _sure_ it’s a female?”

“Yeah, why?”

“The green ones are usually male. She should be brownish in colour.”

“Maybe she’s transgender,” Potter suggested.

“Maybe _you’re_ transgender,” Draco replied, thinking vaguely that his brain must not be working right. He felt warm and comfortable, like somebody had wrapped him up in a tasty pancake. But that comparison didn’t make any sense either, did it?

“Oh wow, really mature. My cousin has better comebacks.”

“You have a little cousin?” Draco asked curiously. He knew that the Potter family had no other descendants, but nobody knew anything about Lily Potter’s relatives.

“Nah, he’s a month older than me,” Potter replied, grinning at him drowsily. “He’s just really stupid.” 

Draco motioned to punch Potter, even though he was several feet away and there was the coffee table between them. Potter just chuckled quietly as Draco’s arm dropped to the floor, where he left it.

“Remind me to punch you later,” he muttered, already half-asleep.

He didn’t even hear Potter hum in agreement.


	15. Watch Me Fall Headfirst [Saturday, December 11th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next round!  
> Thanks to BlaseBlanco, miyawoks and ThatBoringOne! I see you guys have some opinions on our boys' level of romantical competence :D  
> I hope you’re all safe! <3
> 
> Title: ScottDW - Watch me fall

Draco stood in front of the fireplace, the only source of light in the room. The fire roared, but Draco felt cold. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of summer – the Manor was never warm these days.

Lying on his back at Draco’s feet was the boy, eyes closed and breathing heavily. Every visible bit of skin was covered in blood, but his white Quidditch robes were spotless. Draco’s head was swimming, vision blurring in panic. His wand felt like it might snap in his hand.

“ _More, Harry, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini?_ ”

 _He_ was standing right next to Draco and it felt as if His sheer presence was sucking the warmth and light out of the room, as if He were a Dementor, only much, much worse. So much worse. The giant snake was there too, circling them, hissing at Harry, flicking her tongue. And Draco couldn’t look away, too terrified of what she might do if he dared let his guard down.

“ _Draco, give Harry another taste of our displeasure_ ,” He said.

And Draco knew that he didn’t have a choice, that he had to do it, but Merlin, he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to lift his wand, to point it at Harry, to say the words like they didn’t _mean_ what they did. Like they didn’t hurt _him_ too.

“ _Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!_ ” He commanded, and Draco knew what His wrath felt like, what it would cost him. He couldn’t do this to Mother.

And Draco lifted his wand, which was so very heavy in his hand, and he looked down at Harry without really seeing him, his mind already far away. Nagini was no longer moving. She had stopped next to Him and they were talking, a constant, sinister noise that seemed to envelop all of them.

“ _Crucio_ ,” he said tonelessly.

Harry was screaming, lifting off the ground uncontrollably, trashing. Suddenly, a girl cried out, yelling _“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM!”_ and Harry's eyes flew open, his acid-green eyes fixed on Draco’s chest, which was soaked with blood, sticky and black.

And then Draco was screaming too.

Strong, cold hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, and Draco was terrified. _He_ never touched him, He always used His wand to hurt him, to hurt all of them. Why was He touching him?

The hands were like lead on his shoulders, weighing him down. And Draco couldn't stop screaming, but if he didn't, He would surely punish him too. Draco mustn't show weakness. But how could he not, when weak was all he was?

And then his upper body was lifted up – why had he been lying on his back? He hadn't been a second ago, it had been Harry on the ground, not him. Had the Dark Lord thrown him to the ground? Had Draco dropped down on his own? Would He end it now, feed him to Nagini?

And maybe that would be for the best. He couldn't go on like this much longer, he wasn't ruthless like _them_ or calculating like Mother, he didn't have what it took.

Then there was someone else holding him tightly against their body, and it couldn't be Him – _He_ would never touch anybody like that. He wasn't capable of sharing warmth or comfort, because He had none.

Draco clung to the person blindly. They were stroking his back now and there was something soft tickling his face, smelling comfortingly of grass and earth and rain, like something that was _real_.

He opened his eyes and was blinded. His sitting room was ablaze with light and kneeling in front of his armchair was Potter, hugging him to his chest. Draco released a shuddering breath, forcing himself to let go of Potter's shirt.

Potter let him back down carefully and then sat down on the floor, his back leaning against the coffee table. Aurelius leapt up onto the armchair, almost crushing Draco, who didn't mind. The dog could always make him feel better when it got like that.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” Draco said hoarsely. The fire was still going, but Draco shivered nonetheless.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Potter said matter-of-factly. “ _I_ never have nightmares.”

Draco couldn't help but snort and Potter's mouth twitched.

“Was it the snake?” Potter asked carefully. Draco busied his trembling hands with stroking Aurelius' fur.

“Partly,” he answered shortly. “How did you know?”

Potter looked over his shoulder at the couch where he had lain. The boomslang was draped over the back rest. “She woke me up. I thought you might have heard her too.”

They were silent for a while, Potter staring into the flames, Draco looking at Aurelius, who had placed his head on Draco's chest.

“Want to talk about it?” Potter offered.

“Not really,” Draco said.

Telling Potter about his nightmare was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't need to know what Draco had done for _Him_ – to _Rowle_ , not Potter, he now remembered – and Draco just wanted to forget it ever happened, not dwell on it.

“Okay.”

“What are you going to name her?” Draco asked, searching for a safer topic.

“Well, I rather like _Murder Noodle,_ ” Potter deadpanned, looking at him.

Heart still racing, Draco let his head fall back against the backrest while maintaining eye contact. “You're the worst.”

Potter smiled softly. “Yeah, I try.”

“And really?”

Potter took a moment to think, looking over at the sleeping snake. Draco looked up at the ceiling, where Potter had conjured a giant floating orb of golden light.

“I really like her scales, so I think I'll call her Emerald,” Potter said finally.

“You're naming her after her colour? How original,” Draco said sarcastically.

“I'm sorry, not everybody can be as _fancy_ as you are,” Potter mocked, a grin tugging at his lips. “What's Aurelius mean, then?”

Draco looked down at his dog, who was now half asleep on top of him.

“It's Latin,” he said shortly.

“For ...?” Potter pressed on.

All right, that one was on Draco.

“The golden one,” he admitted sheepishly.

Potter laughed suddenly and then immediately yelped in pain and pressed a hand against his side.

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned forward in his armchair. “Come on, you're being ridiculous. Let me just heal that real quick and then you can go back to laughing at me.”

Potter sighed but lifted his shirt obediently. Draco suspected that maybe he did it to get him off his back and also lift his spirits a little. Truth be told, Draco didn’t really care _why_ he did it, as long as he _did_. He took his wand from the coffee table and bore down on the bruises.

“Care to tell me what _exactly_ you rammed through your body there?”

“It was nothing,” Potter said half-heartedly. Draco just raised an eyebrow, inspecting the scar. “ _Fine_. It was a footrest.”

“How on earth –” Draco started, but Potter cut him off, apparently deciding to just get it all out at once.

“So, I was testing the Lightning with Blaise. We curbed it some, but I reckon it's still too fast. Well, we were going in opposite directions and we … er … grazed each other. And his footrest went right through, I guess.”

“That broomstick already broke your back and _impaled_ you, Potter!” Draco exclaimed in disbelief. “ _Why_ are you still flying it?”

Potter smiled at the ceiling with a dreamy look on his face, completely unperturbed by his rather grisly track record. “You've never flown it, have you? It's magic.”

“That's what _all_ of them are!”

“But that broom is something else. I want to die on that broom.”

“You already _did_ , you bloody moron!”

“And it was the best of all my deaths,” Potter concluded.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You'd need to have died _at least_ twice to actually be allowed to rank that experience.”

“And what do _you_ know about my death count?” Potter asked, brows raised.

“I've got full access to your medical files.”

“That!” Potter said, scandalised. “I bet it also says I'm not a Parselmouth anymore.”

“I'll give you that,” Draco said. “But that's hardly proof of anything.”

Potter just shrugged and reached over to stroke Aurelius. “You won't tell anyone, will you? Or put it in my chart?” Potter asked casually, his tense shoulders betraying him.

“I'd never give up blackmail material that easily,” Draco said, waving his hand in dismissal.

Potter grimaced. “That's two Slytherins with dirt on me, now.”

“Have you ever heard of _'fighting fire with fire'?_ ”

Potter leaned further away from Draco, as if he would be able to see him better. “What ... want me to spy on Blaise and you?”

Nobody was _that_ dense, right? Draco banged the back of his head against the armchair softly. “You're completely hopeless, Potter. You don't need to find something to hold over our heads. You have plenty already.”

“I have?”

“Sure you do. You could probably get Blaise sent to Azkaban for attempted murder if you really wanted to. Or aggravated assault at the very least. And you _do_ know that Poly-Parties are illegal?”

“But I was there too!”

“Nobody's going to throw _you_ into Azkaban,” Draco said exasperatedly. “They'd probably fine you a symbolic ten Galleons and then ask to take a picture with you.”

Potter did his best impression of a fish underwater, opening and closing his mouth uselessly, before finally managing, “Then _why_ did I even end up bribing Blaise?”

“Because Blaise knows how to turn the tides in his favour. And don't tell me he ever _explicitly_ told you that you had to showcase his broom to keep him quiet.”

“It was implied!”

“No, it wasn't,” Draco disagreed. “He just led you to believe that it was. As far as _he's_ concerned, you just wanted to help him out.”

To say that Potter looked appalled would have been an understatement. He seemed to take it as a personal insult that Blaise had manipulated him that easily. “How is anybody supposed to see through that?”

Draco smirked. “You're not. That's the point.”

“Bloody hell ... _Fine_ , what have I got on you?”

“Potter, don't tell me you are _really_ this stupid.”

There was the glare again. Did he really think that making out with a Potter-look-alike wouldn't seriously hurt Draco’s image? He could already imagine the rumours it would spawn. They'd say he was a creepy stalker. And he had been a Death Eater, of course. The public would never tolerate him lusting after Potter. They'd want his head. Pitchforks would be involved.

“Just don't tell _anyone anything_ about me that you wouldn't want to read about yourself.”

“So never even mention your name again?”

Potter looked up at his orb of light again, giving Draco an unobscured view of his neck. It was a rather nice neck – strong, but not too buff, and the flickering firelight made Potter’s tan skin look even warmer. Draco could just make out the fine golden necklace, which drew attention to his delicate collarbones and –

 _Merlin_ , making out with his look-alive had been supposed to make it easier! Now Draco was marvelling at Potter’s neck instead.

Telling himself that he was into Pansy in year five had definitely been easier than convincing himself he was _not_ fancying Potter. All the evidence suggested otherwise. He had the sudden notion that he was rapidly turning into what Blaise liked to call a _‘disaster gay’_. Excellent.

Potter looked back at him and Draco tore his eyes away immediately. Right, Potter had said something. Talking. He could do that.

“Why, _did_ you talk about me before?”

“Maybe once or twice,” Potter allowed. “Usually about what an insufferable git you are.” Then he got up and sat back down on the couch, the deadly snake just inches from his very unprotected skin.

“What time is it?”

“Quarter past three,” said Potter, unfolding one of Draco’s blankets and tucking himself up.

Draco dimmed the orb and then split it into a myriad of smaller ones, scattering them across the ceiling like tiny stars. They didn't talk again and ten minutes later, Draco finally drifted back to sleep, listening to Potter's deep, calm breathing.

When Draco woke up again, the sun had risen and Potter and his snake were gone. The empty food containers had vanished and his table looked just as it had before Potter had barged in, clutter and all. The arm braces lay on a chair, forgotten.


	16. It Takes Three to Tango [Wednesday, December 22nd 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks for commenting to hitomu, AlluraBelle, serilla, BlaseBlanco and ThatBoringOne!  
> So, since yesterday’s chapter wasn’t that long and the next one is rather short too (and also, I can’t wait to post chapter 17!), here’s the next one already.

Blaise was actually home when Draco came calling on Wednesday evening. They had not seen each other for a week, as Draco had been completely immersed in his research and Blaise had been at the work shop constantly.

Draco was surprised that Blaise had not forgotten their dinner _again_. Maybe his work on the Lightning Blast was coming to an end? Or maybe Potter didn’t have that much time anymore? He _had_ played a charity match on the weekend.

Also, it was almost Christmas. Draco couldn’t say that he would be sad to hear that Blaise and Potter hadn’t seen each other all that much lately.

Draco followed Sooky into the dining room, and there he was. Harry fucking Potter, sitting at Blaise’s mahogany table and eating canapés. And again, he was in his sportswear. Skin tight and completely unfair! Draco wasn’t prepared to suffer today!

“Draco!” Blaise boomed, grinning at him from his place at the head of the table. “Look who made time for us!”

“Hard to miss him,” Draco said, sitting down opposite Potter. “Busy day at the ‘shop?”

“We’re so close! If we keep this up, we’ll crack the speed problem before New Year’s!” Blaise said enthusiastically while Potter mumbled something in agreement around a full mouth.

Draco’s stomach did an unpleasant twist. Blaise and Potter seemed determined to keep working over the holidays, when the workshop was closed. Nobody there but the two of them, working closely together. Chasing each other on their brooms. _Impaling_ each other – and that was just plain wrong! Where did that thought come from, all of a sudden? He definitely wasn’t _jealous_ of Blaise Zabini!

Right?!

“You’d better be careful then,” Draco advised. “You know Mungo’s is always full to bursting during the holidays.”

Blaise laughed this off with a wave of his hand. “We’ll survive.”

Draco glared at him. “And no amateur healing! I’m looking at _you_ , Blaise.”

“Oh, so you heard about that?” Blaise chuckled. “I think I did a rather good job.”

“You _disfigured_ him.”

Potter made a sound that Draco took as a noise of protest. He couldn’t be completely sure, as Potter had already stuffed another canapé into his mouth. He seemed to only have two options when it came to food – he was either starving himself or inhaling anything that crossed his path. Given his speed, Draco wasn’t even really sure if he chewed.

“Harry didn’t bleed out on my workbench, so I’ll call it a success.”

“Very high standards you have there.” Draco gave Blaise another stern look. “Just come and get me next time.”

“Certainly,” said Blaise, winking conspiratorially at Potter and not even trying to hide it.

Potter snorted and Draco turned to give him a look that said _‘I dare you’_.

Potter stopped chewing and looked back at him with big eyes, his mouth still full. He swallowed laboriously and then nodded. “I solemnly swear,” he said, grinning. “Also, you’ll be pleased to hear that we’re planning to completely redesign the footrest next spring. And now get off our case.”

Draco was _not_ pleased to hear that their tinkering would continue into the new year.

The tray of canapés suddenly lifted off and floated away while half a dozen platters soared over from the kitchen and landed in the middle of the table.

“So, what are your plans for Christmas?” Potter asked, helping himself to some sausages.

Blaise looked at Draco, like the question wasn't directed at him too, and said in a rather reproachful tone, “He's probably working as many shifts as legally possible.”

“It's not like I beg them to schedule me for every available shift,” Draco lied, taking some potatoes. “But most people like to take some time off over Christmas and I'm free, so why not?”

“Because it's pathetic,” Blaise said, gesturing at him with his glass. “So which shifts did you get?”

Draco cut his potatoes and then, for something to do, drowned them in a little more gravy than was strictly necessary. “I've got all the afternoon shifts.”

Blaise sighed deeply, like Draco was some troublesome child. “So, you'll get home around half to midnight, eat a piece of toast and then sleep until it's time to go to work again?”

Why did that sound like an accusation? Draco was doing the entire Wizarding community a _service_ here.

“Don't you celebrate Christmas with your parents?” Potter fork hung in the air uselessly, half a sausage in imminent danger of dropping onto Blaise’s pristine table cloth. Blaise really should’ve known better than to have Sooky lay that out when he knew Potter was coming too.

“No,” Draco said shortly, stabbing an evasive carrot.

“Why not?” Potter pressed on, looking rather confused. There was a steady drip of grease hitting the table now, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

Why couldn’t Gryffindors just mind their own fucking business for once? No sense of tact, either.

Draco didn’t look at him. His voice cut like ice through the stuffy air. “Because we're not doing Christmas anymore, simple as that.”

Potter opened his mouth to ask another stupid question, but Blaise cut him off. “Let it go, Harry. It's been like that for years.”

Potter ate in pensieve silence while Blaise and Draco made small talk. Pansy had apparently just divorced her second husband and Millicent Bulstrode seemed to be rather successful with her business, which specialised in the breeding of exotic Kneazles.

“You could catch up with us on Christmas Eve,” Potter said suddenly.

Instant suspicion gripped Draco. “What's on Christmas Eve?”

The answer came almost immediately. “We'll meet some friends and do a pub crawl. It's a Muggle tradition. It’ll be fun.”

And there it was. That sounded like _work_. He knew practically nothing about Muggles, but if they all were like his neighbour, Mrs. Capitelli, then they were _way_ too nosey for him to handle.

“I've been assured that it will be positively boozy.” Blaise grinned at him. “We'll send an owl around eleven to tell you where to find us.”

This sounded to Draco like Blaise had already been invited. By now, Draco was almost sure that there was something going on between the two of them. They were calling each other by their first names, working together day and night, seeing each other at parties and now they were spending Christmas together? And then there was the fact that they had already _shagged_ , of course.

He wondered if the Weasleys already knew? It was highly likely.

“I don't know. I'll probably be exhausted by then,” Draco said casually, concentrating on his plate again. “But you have fun.”

They tried to change his mind all through dessert and the following game of three-way wizard's chess (which Potter was absolute rubbish at), but Draco didn't budge.

He didn't need to put up with that on Christmas.


	17. Resistance is Futile [Friday, December 24th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to serilla, ThatBoringOne and Fandomwarriorqueen! My ego is very much inflated after all your nice comments!  
> Now let’s see how persuasive Harry can be! 😊

When Draco finally left work at quarter to midnight on Christmas Eve, it was pouring. He produced a shield over his head, which sheltered him from the worst of it, and went down the street towards the spot he usually used to Disapparate. His shoes and socks were soaked after seconds, partly because he overlooked a rather large puddle.

Draco was already looking forward to a hot shower, a cup of tea and then his warm bed.

He was almost there when he suddenly noticed the sound of footfalls behind him, mostly covered by the rain. But when he looked around, nobody was there. Draco gripped his wand tightly and turned around to face the deserted street.

“Who’s there?” he demanded composedly, though his heart was already racing.

Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to linger outside too long. He should go back to using the Floo, even if he hated the taste of ash that lingered in his mouth afterwards. Better that than be maimed or killed. One never knew who was lying in waiting – potions addicts, bereaved family members, in his case even vigilantes, who couldn’t accept that he was not in Azkaban.

The footsteps were still there – slower now, but also nearer and then Potter took off the hood of his Invisibility Cloak.

“Merry Christmas.”

He grinned, just a split-second before he grabbed Draco’s arm and Disapparated with him.

~o~

They reappeared in a dark alley and Potter released him. Music and laughter were wafting over from the building to their right. Draco turned to stare at Potter, who was folding his Cloak into a tiny bundle and then stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans.

“What the hell was that?”

“I wizard-napped you, what else?”

“Where are we? Where’s Blaise?”

Potter pushed down Draco’s arm, which was still raised into the air. “Blaise and I split up. And this is Muggle London, so put away your wand.”

“You split up?” Draco repeated, his heart still racing. He had not even heard the rest of Potter’s sentence. “Why?”

“So you wouldn’t slip through our fingers, of course,” Potter seemed massively proud of himself. “He’s waiting to ambush you at home.”

And Draco watched numbly as Potter conjured his Patronus and sent it to inform Blaise of their operation’s success. They hadn’t broken up, just branched out. Working together, yet again.

With a _plop_ Blaise appeared next to them, clutching a small bag. “Here, get changed,” he said, offering it to Draco.

“You want me to change my clothes in the back alley of some shady dive bar?” Draco asked in disbelief.

“Yes, please,” Potter said sweetly. “And hurry up. We’ve been gone for close to an hour now, you really left us waiting.”

“I didn’t know you would _abduct_ me, did I?”

“You should have expected it, seeing as we _did_ send an owl an hour ago. Which you straight up ignored. That was rude, by the way,” Blaise said. “And you could’ve changed at home if you had just taken the Floo. So that’s on you, really.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him, but there wasn’t really anything to say to that if he didn’t want to outright admit he didn’t want to _be_ here.

So, Draco emptied the bag. Inside were a pair of black trousers, a white shirt and a crimson sweater with a Christmas tree stitched onto the front. The trousers and shirt belonged to him, but he had definitely never seen a sweater that ridiculous before.

“You can’t expect me to wear that,” Draco said flatly. “That’s not even mine.”

“You can’t go inside in your scrubs, that’s not very festive,” Blaise argued. “Just reminds people of their elderly family members who they haven’t visited in forever.”

“You’ll stand out. Look,” Potter added, opening his jacket. His sweater was dark blue with snowflakes on the front.

“This is ridiculous,” Draco said.

But he still turned his back on them and changed. The sweater was made from soft, thick wool and when he pulled it over his head, a familiar, pepperminty scent enveloped him. He had to work quite hard to get his face under control before turning around again. After all, he couldn’t let them know that he did _not_ hate this outfit. At all.

“All right, let’s see,” Blaise said, making a twisting motion with his hand while Potter stuffed his scrubs into the bag.

Draco sighed and slowly turned around his own axis once. He could feel their eyes scrutinising him. No problem. That didn’t make him nervous at all.

“You’re definitely taller than me. I guess we’ll have to lengthen it some.”

Potter pointed his wand at one of the sleeves, which ended a few inches above Draco’s wrist. Right on cue, the sleeves knit themselves further down his arms until they were finally long enough.

It was alright. _Whatever_ , really. Draco had worn countless sweaters before. So what if this one belonged to Potter? That didn’t make Draco want to smell it a second time. No, thank you.

“Perfect,” Potter said, stuffing his wand up his own sleeve. “Alright, let’s go. Remember: When in doubt, just assume _everybody_ is a Muggle. So, no magic talk and also _no magic_.”

“Wait!” Blaise said and then he was ruffling Draco’s hair with his hands, messing it up with a complicated twist of his wrist. “Better. From Mr. Right to Mr. Right _Now_ in under five seconds.”

“Blaise! I’m not here for _that_ , okay? I don’t even know why I’m here at all!”

“To prevent you from turning into a reclusive prune!” Blaise said dramatically and then he was pulling Draco out of the ally and into the pub.

Finding Potter’s friends wasn’t hard at all. As soon as they entered, several people at a huge table in the back cheered. Potter waved at them eagerly and then took Draco by the arm and dragged him over there. As if Draco would flee if the opportunity presented itself. Which, admittedly, he was still thinking about.

Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, Abbott, Luna, Thomas and Ginny were there, as well as some people Draco didn’t know and assumed to be the aforementioned Muggles.

“All right, let’s see,” Potter said, looking around. “This is Callum, Ella, Lauren and Olivia.” 

He gestured at all of them in turn – a tall, dark-skinned boy (Callum) with his arm slung around a girl with freckles and a platinum bob (Ella), a thoroughly fit girl with Potter’s skin colour and her dark hair in a high ponytail (Lauren) and a very petite girl with big round eyes and long, blond hair (Olivia) – and they raised their glasses or nodded at him. Then Potter grabbed Draco’s shoulders from behind, as if to present him.

“Everybody, this is Ma– Draco. He’s twenty-four years old, a Gemini, works as a doctor and loves long walks on the beach. I assume.”

Draco raised both his eyebrows as Potter’s friends laughed loudly. Blaise took the last empty chair next to Ginny as Potter sat down next to Olivia in the booth.

“Shove over, will you?” he said eagerly.

Then he grabbed Draco’s arm again and pulled him down to sit beside him. Seemed like Potter didn’t have any problem at all with being touched when it was somebody he knew. Or maybe it had something to do with who was initiating it, who knew? Draco wasn’t even sure if Potter himself would know what it was.

“We could’ve just found another chair!” Ella complained loudly.

“It’s fine, I didn’t want to breathe anyway,” Lauren wheezed.

“Suck it up,” Potter laughed. “I remember a very crowded trip to the shore in your four-seater. I believe we were six people? I still couldn’t feel my legs half an hour after we got there.”

“I don’t even know why you came with us,” Lauren said in mock-accusation. “You didn’t even want to go swimming!”

“Just admit it already – you need somebody to keep your other side warm, because you’re a nesh!” Ella (who was wearing a yellow sweater with a candy cane on the front) said accusingly.

Potter crossed his arms and pretended to be hurt. “Would you stop slandering me?”

“So, if I managed to organise another chair, you would sit on it? All by yourself?”

“I think Blaise has an announcement to make!” Potter talked over her, completely ignoring her question.

Blaise (a black sweater with snowflakes that matched Potter’s blue one suspiciously) jumped to his feet.

“Yes,” he boasted. “It so happens that I bet a rather large sum on Harry … er … deciding the charity match for his team. And again, he didn’t disappoint! So, the rest of the night is on me!”

The whole table cheered and Ginny, Luna, Thomas and Longbottom got up and made their way over to the bar. Lauren (white with a red stocking) reached over Olivia’s shoulder to pat Harry on the back. Potter, who got pushed against the table, groaned silently. Draco could feel it where their bodies connected.

“You bet on Harry?” Granger (green with a red-and-white bobble hat) asked contemplatively. “Are you even allowed to? Seeing as you are ... friends.”

And wasn’t that just a suspicious choice of words? Draco tried to lean a little away from Potter and nearly fell off the bench, swaying on the edge for a second. Then Potter grabbed his arm firmly and pulled him even closer, smirking at him before letting go again. Well, _that_ hadn’t worked in Draco’s favour.

“Don’t worry,” Blaise said offhandedly. “I checked and rechecked the rules. Not about to go to prison for betting fraud, am I?”

“You’d better not, I really don’t want to have family outings in jail,” Weasley (a horrible orange with presents on the front) said.

And what did he mean _‘family outings’_? Was Blaise _family_ already?

“It’s only illegal if you’re on the extended team. Harry wouldn’t be allowed to bet on their games, of course. Neither would the referee, for obvious reasons. Coaches, board members and team Healers are also banned, but everybody else – suppliers, for example – can participate freely.”

“Healers?” Callum (red with a Christmas wreath) laughed as Blaise froze. “What type of paramedics do you employ? Are they specialised in hands-on healing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Potter objected. “They use healing herbs, of course, and sometimes voodoo dolls.”

The whole table laughed. Draco saw Potter and Blaise exchange a glance.

“Hey, Harry? What’s your team called again?” Lauren asked. “I always mean to look it up at home and then I forget the name again.”

“You’re getting old,” Olivia (brown with eyes and antlers but also a red _bobble_ where the nose would be?) teased her, earning herself a light dig to her side.

“ _You_ couldn’t remember, either!”

“I told you, it’s something starting with S ... SSC or something.”

“It’s the FFC,” Potter corrected her, grinning. “As in ‘Falmouth Football Club’?”

“Oooh right,” both girls said. Lauren took out a pen and grabbed an unused beer mat. “I’ll write that down right now.”

But her pen wasn’t working and nobody else had one on them. She made Olivia promise to remind her later, but of course that wouldn’t happen either.

“I can’t _believe_ you haven’t got a pen,” Callum said to Potter. “What do you write your autographs with?”

Potter laughed. “You lot can’t even remember my team’s name; I think nobody is queuing up anytime soon.”

“You can’t really blame us,” Lauren said loudly. “We’re almost always pissed when we get together. How is anyone supposed to remember anything?”

“Hear, hear,” said Ginny (red with a golden shooting star), who had just reappeared. She was closely followed by the others, all of them carrying trays. Luna (whose sweater seemed to be knit entirely out of tinsel) distributed shot glasses.

“I can’t even remember where Grace was from,” Ella admitted as the others sat down again.

There was a sudden shift in the mood. Granger and Weasley exchanged worried looks, Ginny, Thomas and Longbottom stopped handing out their various beverages and Abbott glanced at Potter nervously, who looked like he had just been hit with a Bludger. Only Luna seemed to be completely unconcerned, which, admittedly, didn’t mean a lot.

“Australia,” Potter said shortly, grabbing his shot glass and gulping it down. He looked rather miserable. Draco’s stomach twisted oddly.

“And why did she have to leave again?” Ella asked hesitantly.

“Her student visa was revoked,” Granger said anxiously. “So, she had to go back.”

“And then she completely forgot about Harry,” Luna added lightly. Granger and Abbott turned to stare at her in disbelief.

“So, she hasn’t been in touch?” Olivia asked. “I tried texting her, but she must have changed her number.”

“Don’t worry, she’s fine,” Potter said, emptying _her_ shot glass too. “She’s back with her ex.”

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Olivia said compassionately, putting an arm around his shoulders and hugging him to her side. “I’m so sorry. We won’t bring her up again.”

“Unless you get so smashed you don’t remember ever having made this promise,” Ginny said, trying for humour.

“Not that unlikely.” Callum raised his glass to her.

“Let’s better take the photo now while we all still look somewhat presentable,” Lauren said.

And then she flagged down a waitress and handed her a camera. She had to take several steps back until she could fit them all into the frame and then they still had to squash together until she was satisfied. Potter put his arm around Draco’s shoulder for maximum closeness and Draco shivered slightly. He told himself it was because he could feel the coldness of Potter’s hand on his shoulder (even through his sweater and shirt), but deep down he knew that wasn’t the reason. Every inch that was pressed up against Potter was tingling.

“So, Draco,” said Lauren as she was putting away her camera and Potter let go of him. “With a name _that_ fancy, you surely went to the same preppy private school as the others?”

“Well, I _do_ remember wearing a uniform,” Draco admitted. He wasn’t at all prepared to answer questions about his fake Muggle education! He didn’t even really know what subjects Muggles had. He thought Sarah from next door might have mentioned failing _Chemistry_ once?

“You better believe he was there!” Potter exclaimed.

“You were friends back then?” Ella asked.

Weasley choked on his beer. Granger and Ginny rapped him on the back, both laughing loudly. The others joined them, Blaise’s thunderous laughter the loudest of all.

“Oh goodness, no. We hated each other,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, we were arch-enemies from the moment we met when we were eleven years old,” Potter agreed.

“No _eleven-year-old_ has an arch-enemy!” Callum objected loudly.

“He tried to have me expelled!” Potter protested.

“You threw mud at me!”

“Well, you started that smear campaign against me! You even made _badges_ for the whole school to wear and told that _Skeeter woman_ all that rubbish about me!”

“ _You_ got my father arrested!” Draco shot back. They were glaring at each other now, which was rather intense if one happened to sit right next to the person one was glaring at.

“You tried to – !” Potter started, but Draco never got to know where he was going with that sentence, because Olivia interrupted him.

“Harry! His father went to _prison_ because of you?”

“Well, to be fair, he _was_ guilty,” Draco said, shrugging and breaking eye contact with Potter.

Everybody else was looking at them now, transfixed. Longbottom’s mouth was open, a pretzel stick forgotten in his hands.

“ _That_ escalated quickly,” Lauren said quietly, which broke the tension.

“And you’re _friends_ now?” Ella asked incredulously. “ _How_?”

“I don’t know. Potter just sort of grows on you, I guess.” Draco elbowed Potter in the ribs. It wasn’t his fault if he did it a little too hard – it wasn’t easy coordinating something like that with his elbow pressed against his body. “Like a tumour.”

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer,” Potter said, grinning at him and not even complaining.

“ _Why_ would you do that?” Blaise asked and Draco had to admit that he was puzzled, as well.

“So you can keep an eye on them?” Potter said uncertainly. “How would _I_ know? It’s from _The Godfather_.”

“Whose godfather?” Draco asked confusedly. Was this about Potter’s godfather? But Black hadn’t been close to any of his enemies, had he?

“Nobody’s,” Ella said. “He’s talking about the movie.”

Draco exchanged a glance with Blaise.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it?” Ella exclaimed and then looked around at the others. “The rest of you know it, _right_?”

All of the Muggles nodded, as did Granger, Thomas and Potter, but everybody else shook their heads.

“Movie night at our flat, first thing next year!” she decided, looking at Callum, who nodded.

His dark mob of curls, which shaped his head to look like a Bludger and seemed even more rebellious than Potter’s hair, would probably bounce for another few minutes. Maybe that was why Potter was friends with him? Two men who never brushed their hair.

“Ella _loves_ movies,” Potter explained. “She’s a film critic for the TV paper.”

“Wow, that’s fantastic,” Draco said to her and she smiled. Well, he _assumed_ it was fantastic, because he had never heard of this _TV Paper_. At least he had learned from Mrs. Maloney that a movie was where all the famous Muggles came from.

She blushed and ducked her head. “Harry makes it seem much bigger than it is. I’m actually a waitress, the paper is just what I do for fun. I mean, I _would_ do it seriously, but it doesn’t pay that much.”

“Who cares about the money?” said Draco. “As long as you like doing it, you’re allowed to boast a little.”

Weasley scoffed. “Sure, that’s what people with money always say.”

Draco took a deep breath and told himself to stay civil. Weasley didn’t know about his financial situation. Draco wasn’t there to revive an old feud. Not that he knew why he _was_ there, yet. Potter must have felt addressed too, because he was giving Weasley the evil eye.

“And what are the rest of you doing?” asked Draco in an attempt at lightening the mood.

Callum, Ella’s boyfriend, was working as a teacher in primary school. Lauren was a personal trainer and Olivia was working as a yoga instructor.

“Yoga?” Draco said, trying to concentrate. “That’s the thing with the mats, right? I think my neighbour does that in her front yard. Wears real tight clothes too.”

“Uuh, is she fit?” Callum asked, wagging his eyebrows.

“She’s eighty – _you_ tell _me_ ,” Draco complained.

Potter snorted into his beer and shot him a look. He was definitely not sober anymore. His eyes were somewhat dazed and where they were touching, Draco could feel Potter’s body tension dwindling. But then again, Draco felt rather tiddly himself, so who was he to judge?


	18. Daft Pretty Boys [Saturday, December 25th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, let’s see how our boys are doing!  
> Thanks to ThatBoringOne, WildvanillaRose, serilla, Ri and BlaseBlanco!
> 
> Title: Bad Suns - Daft Pretty Boys

An Erumpent was tap-dancing inside Draco’s head and his back was killing him. This was probably because his bed seemed to have sagged to the floor dramatically. His blanket was gone, but he was still wearing his clothes, minus the shoes.

 _Also_ , his legs were intertwined with someone else’s. This was new.

“They’re so _cute_ ,” someone said and then there was giggling.

“ _Shush_ ,” someone else giggled back.

The tap-dancing felt more like stomping now. Draco groaned and opened his eyes.

The room was brightly lit by the sun, and his face was just a foot away from Potter’s. Draco drew his head back instantly. Potter was still sleeping and also fully clothed, thank Merlin. Not that Draco really thought that there was even a chance Potter would _not_ be clothed while lying next to him.

“Merlin’s beard,” he groaned, untangling his legs from Potter’s.

This was met with roaring laughter, which woke Potter in an instant. He shot up, causing the mattress to wobble dramatically and catapult Draco away from him. Draco rolled sideways twice and then hit the floor, which seemed to be almost at the same level as the mattress. He felt about ready to vomit now. The laughter intensified tenfold and there was the sound of someone banging on the table.

“Oh goodness, my sides,” someone wheezed.

Draco pressed both palms against his head to keep it from spinning and looked around. He was in the living-kitchen area of what appeared to be a small apartment. Olivia and Lauren were sitting at a tiny round table, doubling up with laughter. Lauren was holding her sides and Olivia had tears in her eyes.

He looked at Potter, who seemed somewhat less confused, but still a little disoriented. He was sitting on what was apparently a plastic mattress, albeit a very wobbly one. Draco poked it and it gave way easily.

“What’s _that_?” he asked in bewilderment.

This seemed to be a dumb question, because the laughter intensified again. Lauren’s long, dark hair, which she was wearing in a bun, was starting to come undone from all the shaking.

“Our lilo is pretty old,” Lauren pressed out.

“Your _what_?”

Another hilariously stupid question, it seemed. Olivia held onto Lauren’s arm to keep herself from falling off the chair. Lauren laughed so hard it didn’t make a sound anymore. Potter closed his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe Draco would ask something like that.

“Their air mattress,” he said in the kind of tone people used when talking to a very young child. “It’s inflatable. _How_ much did you drink?”

“No idea,” Draco admitted, massaging his temple now. “But I feel about ready to die.”

“Oh, you were both absolutely pissed,” Lauren laughed. “Harry, you forgot you live alone. You just repeated that you couldn’t ‘appear home’ that drunk. As if there was somebody home who would tell you off, or something.”

“Oh, but he couldn’t even pronounce it right anymore,” Olivia added. “He kept saying _‘apparate’_.”

“And _you_ ,” Lauren directed at Draco, “agreed that he wouldn’t make it home in one piece. Then you tried to flag down a night bus by waving your arm around.”

“There wasn’t even one to be seen and Harry kept saying that you were using the wrong arm. It was hilarious. “

“We’ve got pictures,” Lauren concluded. “I think we’ll make them our Christmas card next year.”

Potter tried to get up but kept losing his balance because the mattress was constantly caving under his weight. Lauren and Olivia came over to pull him to his feet (though Lauren seemed to be doing most of the lifting), and then deposited him on a chair.

“That thing is definitely _not_ hangover-proof,” he said, clutching his stomach.

“Well, our bed is barely big enough for the two of us. We maybe could’ve managed to fit _one_ of you, but never both.”

“And we definitely didn’t want to have to explain why we chose Draco,” added Lauren while she undid her bun. Without having been asked, Olivia leaned over and started braiding her hair.

Potter narrowed his eyes at Lauren. “And here I thought we were besties.”

But she just smiled in response. Draco couldn’t blame her – she looked like she could end him without breaking a sweat. A little glaring certainly wouldn’t intimidate her.

“You lost your bed privileges when you pushed us out of it.”

Olivia elbowed Lauren lightly and then said softly. “Give him some space. You know he had a bad dream.”

“I just want to know how he managed to kick _both_ of us out at the same time.”

Draco got up and leaned against the wall to stop the world from spinning so much. He could barely follow their conversation. It felt like his brain was lagging miles behind. There was something about a bed that was nagging at him.

“I said I’m sorry!” pleaded Potter.

“Your ...” Draco frowned and massaged his temple more thoroughly. Did they only have _one_ bed? And then, suddenly, it dawned on him. “You are a _couple_?”

Three heads turned to stare at him.

“Oh wow, he’s even worse than Harry,” Olivia whispered in awe.

“That’s so sad,” Lauren agreed. “But it also explains _so_ much.”

Now that Draco was aware, he noticed the picture frames that occupied every flat surface and also the walls. Looking back, their constant touching at the bar should have clued him in. But then again, he had been pretty preoccupied with Potter accidently touching _him_ now and then. Or looking at him. Or saying his name. Breathing. Existing.

He should probably go home and take a very strong hangover potion.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, looking around for his trainers.

“Oh! But we’ve got the perfect hangover cure. You should really stay for breakfast,” Lauren said.

Olivia nodded along. “Yeah, it’s a secret recipe. Egg whites, vinegar and cinnamon, whisked until foaming. We serve sausages and baked beans with it.”

Draco’s stomach turned violently. Potter closed his eyes and breathed very hard, probably fighting off his nausea. When the moment had passed, he got up as well.

“I’ll come with you. I can show you where the next tube station is.”

Draco had no idea what kind of _‘tube’_ he was talking about, but he assumed that it was a Muggle thing.

They put on their shoes (leaning against the wall for support), found their jackets and then took the lift downstairs.

“Alright,” Draco said as they reached the front door. “Until next year, I guess.”

Potter put a hand on his arm. “You can’t Apparate from here. They’ll be watching from the window.”

So they went out onto the sunlit street.

“Ugh,” said Draco, shielding his eyes with a hand. This was almost as bad as being catapulted out of bed. “This is the worst. I _really_ need some potion.”

“Seconded,” said Potter, looking up at the building and waving half-heartedly. “I just don’t think I’m fit to Apparate. I’d probably be sick.”

“Knight Bus?” Draco suggested.

“You’ve never actually _been_ on that thing, have you?” Potter said. “You’ll be sick before you even manage to sit down. Besides, people would definitely recognise us.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a broom on you?”

“I can’t risk an FUI! Do you want me to get suspended from Quidditch _for life_?”

Draco closed his eyes for a few paces. “Fine. What do you propose we do, then?”

“Take a cab to St. Mungo’s? It’s not that far.”

“I _work_ there, I can’t go in there hungover! I’ve got a reputation to lose!”

“You mean your reputation as an unsociable hermit?”

Draco barged into him with his shoulder, making them both stumble. Potter just managed to catch himself on a street lamp, holding Draco upright by an arm.

“Alright, not St. Mungo’s,” Potter said (without even complaining?) and let go of him again. “Then let’s take the tube; there is a station in your area.”

“What is this _tube_ you keep blethering about?”

“We’re taking the underground train,” Potter said, leading him towards some stairs in the foot walk.

“I’m _not_ doing anything illegal!” Draco jerked to a halt. “I can’t afford to get caught.”

“It’s not underground because it’s _illegal_ ,” Potter argued. “It is literally under the ground. It’s faster that way.”

“You’d better not trick me,” Draco said suspiciously, but he still followed Potter down the stairs.

Draco didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this.

The underground was jam-packed with Muggles, carrying small children and bags full of presents and food containers. Potter grabbed his wrist (a chill travelled up his arm, which Draco expertly ignored) and pulled him through the crowd until they were standing in front of ... was it a billboard?

All Draco could see were colourful lines that were connecting dots and sometimes crossing each other. The lines were labelled and Draco assumed all those names were other tube stations. Potter was studying the map intently, apparently able to read it. _How_ he did that was beyond Draco. Not that Draco was trying very hard, as Potter was still holding his wrist. Merlin, were his hands always that cold?

Potter seemed to have found what he was looking for. He led him through the crowd again, then through a peculiar metal construction and into a tunnel. By then, Draco was quite glad that Potter was holding onto him. The prospect of losing him and braving this Muggle thing on his own was even more terrifying than being dragged along by Harry fucking Potter.

It turned out that the tube really was some type of train, only without the steam and much more stream-lined. Also, it was full to bursting. He and Potter stood pressed against a metal wall and each other.

The only thing that made this a little less awkward was Draco being significantly taller than Potter, which meant that they didn’t have to stare into each other’s eyes the whole time. Thank Merlin for small mercies. He didn’t think he could have stood staring into those damn green eyes for longer than a few seconds.

“This is just totally backward,” Draco complained. “Why do they do this?”

“It’s not usually this bad,” came Potter’s voice from somewhere near Draco’s shoulder, which his face was pressed up against. “It’s Christmas.”

Suddenly, there was faint chiming noise, which seemed to come from … Potter? He was moving already, one arm brushing against Draco’s as he tried to manoeuvre his hand into his coat pocket. After a few seconds, the noise stopped and Potter looked down at something he was holding. His forehead was pressed against Draco’s chest.

Was it getting hotter all of a sudden? It was definitely too full in here. Maybe Draco should’ve taken off his coat before getting on this thing.

Harry straightened again, and Draco could see something small and square in his hands when he looked down.

“It’s Ella. She wants to remind us that we agreed to movie night at their place next year.”

“She told you with that thing?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, holding the device up for him to inspect. It was black and foldable. “It’s a mobile telephone.”

Living in a Muggle neighbourhood, Draco had heard of those before. But he’d never quite been able to picture them. “And you can just send each other messages whenever you like?”

“Yeah,” said Potter with a crooked grin. “Well, technically. It’s useless at home or at work or …” he glanced at the Muggle next to him, hesitating, “similar places. I only get the messages when I’m outside.”

“Still, that’s really practical for people like them.” Draco sounded really excited now. “How long does it take?”

“Just a few seconds,” said Harry, grin spreading.

Something twisted inside Draco’s stomach and he straightened again so he didn’t have to look at those stupidly captivating eyes. It was much too early and they were way too close for that.

“We should really find a way to use those at our places too,” said Draco thoughtfully. These messages sounded way more convenient than owl post (slow) or Patronus messages (total lack of privacy).

Potter just chuckled and wrestled the mobile phone back into his pocket, pressing closer against Draco in the process. It really _was_ hot in here.

The ride took a good twenty-five minutes (more like twenty-five _years_ ) and Draco spent the whole time contemplating how Muggles could stand wasting so much time on traveling. Also, why was it named _‘Underground’_ when most of the rails were, in fact, _above_ ground?

When they finally arrived in Richmond, the station clock showed one in the afternoon, which meant that he still had time to eat, shower and take a walk with Aurelius before his shift started at three.

The following bus ride was much more bearable – they had no trouble getting seats and the bus was much quieter. Potter leaned his head against the window and dosed off while Draco studied the landscape outside. He had never seen so much of Richmond before.

The bus stopped again a few minutes later and a small child got on, followed by three blond teenage girls.

“ _Hermione!_ ” one of the girls called after the child, which had dashed away to look for empty seats. Draco glanced at Potter, who had tensed up all of a sudden, but kept his eyes closed.

Hermione stopped right next to them. When the girls (of which Draco assumed at least one to be her sister) caught up to her, she pointed right at them and the girls did a double take. Draco looked up at them coldly and lifted one eyebrow, which caused the blondest of them to snatch up the girl and sit down somewhere in the back.

The other two took the seats right behind them and began whispering excitedly, which caused their voices to rise and fall more than they were probably aware. Draco caught scraps of their conversation here and there.

“... best Christmas _ever_.” – “... will be _so_ jealous!” – “on a _Muggle_ bus, of all things!” “... looks so _soft_ too.”

“... opportunity. I’ll do it!” one of them whispered resolutely and Draco didn’t like the sound of _that_.

He felt the muscles in Potter’s arm flex nervously and when he looked down, Potter’s fists were clenched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the girls reach out for Potter’s hair.

Draco knew there was such a thing as bad press, because he had gotten plenty of it over the years. He _also_ knew that electrocuting teenagers on a Muggle bus would certainly not fly, even if it was the Saviour himself who did the frying.

He didn’t really think about it and just caught her wrist in a death grip.

“I wouldn’t do that if you want to _keep_ that hand,” he said sharply.

He looked from the girls, who were both staring at him, petrified, to Potter, who was also staring at him. If Draco hadn’t known any better, he would have described the look in his eyes as pleading. He pushed her hand away roughly and got up, pulling Potter up by the arm with him.

“Come on, this is us,” he said briskly and Potter pressed the button that could make the bus stop.

“He’s that Healer,” one of the girls whispered furiously.

“Mum says he was one of _them_ ... _a_ _Death Eater_!”

Potter turned to glare at them and they blushed deeply and shut up instantly. In the back row, Hermione was practically vibrating in her seat while the girl next to her stared out the window intently. The bus stopped not a minute later.

They stood on the pavement until the bus was out of view. As soon as it turned a corner, Potter looked around to make sure nobody was watching them. He then took out his Invisibility Cloak and vanished.

“We’re still a fair way off,” Potter said. “Do you know the way?”

“Me? _You_ are our navigator,” Draco said. “I’ve never been in these parts before.”

“ _Point me_ ,” Potter whispered. “We have to turn left soon.”

They walked quietly, Potter leading the way by taking Draco’s arm and pushing or pulling him whenever it was time to make a turn. This was fine. Potter just wasn’t in the mood for talking. Draco’s arm wasn’t tingling or anything.

They reached Draco’s neighbourhood after fifteen minutes. Potter squeezed his arm lightly and then let go, whispering a soft “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Draco said, trying to keep the lip movement to a minimum. Mrs. Capitelli was known for staring out of her window, after all.

They made it into the house and Potter took off the Cloak, stuffing it into his inside pocket. Aurelius came thundering down the stairs instantly, alternating between barking and whining. Potter dropped to his knees to ruffle his fur enthusiastically, which caused Aurelius to howl even louder. They both cringed. Something was hammering inside Draco’s head like it was trying to break out. Probably the Erumpent.

“ _Silencio_ ,” Draco said, pointing his wand at the dog.

“Thank God,” Potter groaned, getting back to his feet ponderously.

Draco summoned two vials of potion and gave one to Potter, who emptied it in a heartbeat. Draco vanished the empty vials and then led the way into the kitchen, where all his cupboards stood open and several cereal boxes were spread out on the table.

“That was to be expected,” Draco said more to himself, whipping out his wand to tidy up while Potter sat down on a chair.

“That is hilarious.” Even without looking at him, Draco knew that Potter was grinning. “Does he always do this?”

“Oh no, this is still tame,” Draco said, sitting down next to him and wondering why Potter hadn’t found it quite that hilarious when Aurelius had done it with his mugs last month. “Sometimes he turns on the shower or clears out my wardrobe. Maybe it’s his way of telling me that I need new clothes.”

“Or that you smell,” Potter added.

“That too,” Draco agreed, but he was drowned out by his own rumbling stomach. “Merlin, I can’t decide if I want to eat or shower first.”

“I could cook if you want to shower,” Potter offered instantly. Then he closed his eyes, like he was regretting it already.

Too bad. Draco wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that.

“Deal. Just rummage through the kitchen and take what you need.” Draco jumped to his feet at once, not bothering to ask if Potter could even cook. It couldn’t be worse than what Draco could heat up.

When he came back down, feeling like a whole new wizard, Potter was in the middle of a complicated choreography that involved much wand waving. Draco sat down just as a plate landed in front of him. Spaghetti rose out of the pot like a snake and arranged itself on Draco’s plate, forming a perfect mound. Potter floated the sauce pot onto the table and then sat down as well.

“How did you get so good at cooking spells?” Draco said, marvelling at his perfectly arranged plate. He was a little hesitant to just plunge his fork in there.

“I cook when I am wrought-up,” Potter admitted, drowning his Spaghetti in tomato sauce and then making a wedge of cheese grate itself above his plate.

“So, you’re always cooking?” Draco grinned.

“Feels like it,” Potter answered, offering him the sauce.

“I would have thought you the type to cook like a Muggle. That’s what you grew up with, right? People usually take comfort in things that remind them of their childhood.”

“Assuming their childhood was comfortable, you mean?” Potter’ voice sounded strangely harsh. He wasn’t meeting his eyes either, just stabbing the pasta with his fork.

And wow, where did _that_ come from, all of a sudden?

“Want to talk about it?” Draco asked carefully, dribbling sauce onto his spaghetti and trying not to show his curiosity.

“Not even under threat of torture,” Potter said shortly, forking spaghetti into his mouth at the same time.

“Alright ... Hey, do you remember how we got ‘home’ yesterday?” Draco said, illustrating the quotation marks with the hand that wasn’t holding his fork.

The last thing _he_ remembered was talking about Potter’s Muggle ex-girlfriend – the one the Prophet had written about last year, earning their editor-in-chief a shrunken head courtesy of Potter – and then some stuff about old Italian women in yoga pants. _Maybe_ he had gone a bit overboard with the alcohol after that.

Potter frowned. “My memory stops right after the point where Olivia persuaded you to do some yoga poses with her.”

“I did not!” Draco exclaimed, scandalised. He thought about the poses Mrs. Capitelli did and felt his face grow hot. Most of those involved raising her bum into the air.

“No, you didn’t,” Potter grinned. “But only because you couldn’t even keep standing straight for more than five seconds.”

Draco grumbled and pointed his wand at the cheese. It soared over gently, closely followed by the grater, which had much more speed and whacked Draco in the forehead with its plain side before he could so much as duck. He touched his forehead gingerly and felt the already developing bump. Potter laughed loudly.

“Here,” he said, commanding the cheese to grate itself for Draco. “You have to be really precise. I always imagine what I want it to look like.”

“Thanks,” Draco said sheepishly, picking up his fork again. “What’s with you; are you in a hurry or something?”

Potter frowned, his fork frozen in the air. “Why?”

Draco, who had barely even started eating, looked at Potter’s clean plate pointedly. “You eat like a wizard on the run.”

Potter placed his fork on the plate like he thought that would cover up the emptiness of it. “I don’t want it to go cold.”

“You could place a warming charm on it,” Draco suggested.

Potter was crossing his arms now and leaning back in his chair. “Well, I don’t want to. Keeping it warm screws up the texture.”

“If you say so,” Draco said, focusing on his own plate again.

“When does your shift start?” Potter changed the subject expertly.

Draco checked his watch. “I still have an hour. But I will have to kick you out soon, I have to walk the dog before I leave.”

Potter leaned forward again, both hands gripping the table. He sounded alarmed when he said, “Hasn’t he been out since yesterday?”

“That’s your fault, not mine! You abducted me,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. Then he pointed at the back door, which led into the fenced-in garden. “Don’t worry. He can go out whenever he wants to. He knows how to open the door.”

Somehow, this seemed to worry Potter even more. He was frowning and ruffling his hair with one hand.

“So, _anyone_ can get into your house through the garden?”

Draco shrugged. “Certainly, if they manage to get into the garden in the first place. I locked the gate and the fence is charmed to be unclimbable.”

“Don’t your neighbours get suspicious if your dog is in the garden all the time?”

“No, they can’t look inside. The garden will always look empty to Muggles, as well as the house. They could stand right outside the window and they would still not see us.”

Potter nodded thoughtfully. Then he charmed their plates to scrub themselves in the sink, and stood up. “I’ll tag along.”

So Draco leashed Aurelius, Potter threw on his Cloak and they went back out into the bright December sun.

“Alright,” Draco said after a few minutes of silence. “What’s football?”

Potter chuckled, which had Draco thinking that he may have anticipated the question. “It’s a Muggle sport. Two teams with eleven players each, but just one ball and one goal per side.”

Draco actually turned to look at Potter to see if he was serious, remembering too late that it was pointless. Well, he had _sounded_ rather serious.

“Over a _whole_ Quidditch team worth of players more and just _half_ the amount of the balls?”

Draco nearly jumped when Potter bumped his shoulder, stifling his laughter. “Not half. A _quarter_ of the balls. There’s one in total, not per side.”

“How the bloody _hell_ does that work?”

“Okay, so there’s one keeper per side and the rest of the players kick the ball across the field and try to hit the opponent’s goal.”

Draco waited for the rest of it, but Potter didn’t seem to want to say anything else. He couldn’t help it – he looked in his direction a second time.

“That’s _it_?”

Another shoulder bump. This was starting to border on assault. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Draco huffed. “So, you chose some obscure, boring sport so they wouldn’t get suspicious?”

Potter laughed silently. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Malfoy, but football is the Muggles’ most _popular_ sport.”

“Merlin,” Draco muttered to himself. “Poor bastards. And how does Blaise fit into this? I doubt the Muggles think he produces brooms for your weird, boring sport.”

“We told them that he produces sportswear. He knows a thing or two about that. After the … you know,” there was some rustling from Potter’s cloak before he continued, “… after the footrest thing, he had this idea for impenetrable Quidditch gear.”

Oh great. _Another_ thing they could work on together. Blaise would probably get Potter to showcase that too. Draco’s enthusiasm truly knew no bounds.

“And how’s that going?” Draco’s voice didn’t sound flat, right?

There was a sigh. “It’s not. There’s rules against charmed gear.”

Draco told himself that that was nothing to be excited about. Truth was, impenetrable gear _would_ be rather nice. Maybe it would even reduce the number of serious Quidditch injuries. Figured that the _Ministry_ was against it. Not that Draco was going to point out how _brilliant_ Blaise’s idea was.

“So,” said Draco instead, “how do you feel about Blaise just _ditching_ you yesterday?”

“He ditched _you_ too!” Potter laughed. “ _All_ of them just left us with those two.”

“But you went there together, didn’t you?” Draco objected. “That’s different.”

“We all went there together?” Potter replied, maybe in an attempt to be really, really thick. Not that he had to try very hard.

“Come on, you know what I mean!”

“I _really_ don’t,” said Potter.

It suddenly felt unfair that he could see Draco but Draco couldn’t see him.

“It’s different if he just leaves _you_ there! I don’t think Weasley would just leave without Granger, would he?”

Potter grabbed his arm suddenly and pulled him into a narrow laneway. His head appeared in mid-air and Draco rather suspected that the whole point of this stunt was to allow Potter to glare at him.

“If you are referring to what happened in July –” he began irritably, bright eyes flashing at him in the dark alley.

“Not just that!” Draco objected.

Potter grabbed his shoulders and pushed his back against a wall, glaring up at him while Aurelius was sniffing a spot on the ground uselessly.

“There _was_ nothing else!” he hissed, narrowing his eyes dangerously. “And we agreed to never talk about that again. Last thing I need is for Ginny to hear about that.”

“Ginny?” Draco said, quite confused. “Why would _she_ care? Didn’t you call it quits _years_ ago?”

“Not because of _me_ in particular, you flipping idiot. I just don’t believe she would be very happy to hear that her boyfriend is still seeing his hook-ups regularly.”

All the blood inside his head suddenly dropped to his stomach. “Her _what_ now?”

Potter let go of him, leaving his shoulders slightly colder than they had been. “Malfoy, you _do_ know they are dating, right?”

“Since _when_?” he demanded. Why was he just now hearing about this?!

“Officially? Bill’s birthday party, I guess,” Potter said, putting his hood back on. “From what I heard, that butterbeer pong game got _really_ intense.”

“That was over a _month_ ago!”

Did that mean that Draco’s obsession – no, that was a bit much, let’s call it a curiosity – about Potter and Blaise’s _thing_ had been entirely unfounded?

“You gotta settle that with Blaise,” Potter said, his voice moving away from him. “I’m keeping out of it.”

They circled back silently and had just reached his front garden again, when Potter whispered “ _Incoming!_ ” and then squeezed past him to avoid colliding with Mrs. Capitelli, who was just catching up with them.

“Oh _Draco_ , dear,” she huffed. “What a _coincidence_ to meet you outside! I was just coming over to borrow some sugar.”

Draco looked down at the rolling pin she was still holding in her hands and rather doubted that it was that much of a coincidence. Potter, who was stuck between Draco’s left side and his rose bushes, held onto his arm, probably trying to keep away from the thorns as much as possible. Why did it always have to be his left arm?

“I saw you coming home an hour ago, didn’t you spend the night at home?” Mrs. Capitelli asked casually.

“No,” Draco answered carefully. “I slept in the city at some friends’ home. They’ve got an _air mattress_.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she answered, sounding delighted (probably at having found out something new – nobody should be delighted about air mattresses). “Was your _boyfriend_ there too?”

Draco gaped at her. The hand around his upper arm twitched slightly. “My ...?”

“That _handsome_ young man you had over the other day?”

“Er – do you mean Blaise?” Draco asked confusedly. There weren’t exactly a lot of options. He practically never had guests.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she giggled. “I know _Blaise_. He always comes over to talk if I’m outside. Such a _nice_ young man.”

“Yes ...,” Draco agreed, gesturing at his front door lamely. “Well, I’ve got to ...”

“I mean that Italian boy,” she talked over him. “I think he spent the night a few weeks ago? I never saw him _leave_.”

“ _Italian_ boy?” Draco asked, even more confused now. She couldn’t mean Potter, could she? He wasn’t even Italian.

“He’s rather small, I think? With really lovely hair,” she described. And this didn’t fit Potter _at all_ , but who else was there?

“Mrs. Capitelli, are you trying to make a pitch for one of your nephews?” he asked casually, trying to ignore the hand that was vibrating on his arm. Potter seemed to grow rather restless, hemmed in as he was.

“Oh no, my dear. I would _never_ if you are already _with_ someone,” she breathed, clutching the rolling pin to her chest. “And my nephews are too old for you and all of them already married.”

“Oh well, then I don’t really think I can follow,” Draco said. “Are you sure it was _my_ house?”

“Oh yes, quite sure,” she said. “Sanjay saw him too. He’s got this ...” and then she gestured at her forehead while looking at the ground bashfully. “Shame, really. He’s got such a handsome face, apart from that. And a really nice _bum_ ,” she added candidly.

Potter and Draco yelped in unison. Potter because he had probably pricked himself on some thorns, and Draco because Potter gave him a mighty pinch in the process. Mrs. Capitelli took a startled step back.

“Roses,” Draco explained, rubbing his arm.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Mrs. Capitelli assured him. “He looks like a rather good catch.”

“Yes ...,” Draco said slowly. “He’s really ... _unusual_.”

Mrs. Capitelli beamed at him. Potter jabbed him in the side hard. Her beam lessened slightly, probably because she saw Draco grimacing.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, darling,” she said, grabbing her rolling pin with both hands again. As if.

“Oh no, that’s alright,” Draco assuaged her. “It’s just a rather _new_ development. If we could maybe keep this between us for now?”

“Certainly,” she assured him, stepping much closer now, as if to conspire with him.

Draco wasn’t fooled by this. By the end of his shift tonight, every single one of his neighbours would be fully informed, just as Sanjay had informed _her_. She had probably caught a glimpse of Potter when he had accepted their food, and hounded the delivery boy for information afterwards.

“Thank you,” he said, motioning to leave, but she put a hand on his forearm and leaned in. This caused Draco to lean away from her and consequently into Potter, who had to hold onto him even tighter to keep from tumbling into the shrubs.

“So, what’s his name?” she mock-whispered.

“Er – Harry?” he answered uneasily.

“What are you _doing_?” Potter whispered into his ear urgently. His warm breath on Draco’s neck definitely didn’t help. Draco bumped him with his elbow slightly.

“Oh, but that’s not an Italian name!” Mrs. Capitelli sounded gravely disappointed. She looked down at Aurelius, like _he_ could do anything about it.

“I guess not?” Draco agreed. “He’s quarter Greek, you see …”

“Maybe his name is Enrico? So many of them try to fit in nowadays, it’s a _shame,_ really.”

“Yes … er … no. I mean ... I think Harry is his given name? And he definitely _isn’t_ Italian, sorry.”

“Draco, dear,” she said, shaking her head gravely. “I know it when I see one of us. He did cook for you, didn’t he?”

“Er – I guess so, but that was just ...,” he tried to explain, but she cut him off, patting his hand affectionately.

“And _what_ did you eat?”

“Spaghetti, _but_ –” he began, but she had already let go of his hands to throw her own into the air, rolling pin included.

“There you have it. So, where did you two meet?” she continued instantly and now it definitely felt like an interrogation. Potter’s hand was twitching nervously.

“Boarding school – listen, I’ve really got to ...”

“Oh, I love a good teenage romance!” she exclaimed, clutching the rolling pin to her chest in a by now familiar manner. “And you found each other again after all these years?”

“No, nothing like that,” Draco said, but she wasn’t really listening. She looked like Christmas had come early, which was a pointless thing to think on actual Christmas Day.

“Listen, Mrs. Capitelli. I’ve got to go to work now.”

“ _Work._ Yes, of course!” she exclaimed and for one second, Draco thought he had actually managed to get through to her. “What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a professional … er … footballer,” Draco said shortly, remembering Potter’s cover story. “I really need to ...”

“An _athlete_ , you can really tell!” she said loudly, rendering their closeness completely unnecessary now.

“Yes, certainly. Look, Mrs. Capitelli –”

Mrs. Capitelli opened her mouth again, the next question already on her lips, when Potter let go of him. Something whooshed by Draco’s face and Mrs. Capitelli’s eyes slid out of and then back into focus.

“Excuse me, Draco, dear,” she said distractedly. “I’ve got to finish my preparations for our Christmas dinner.”

And then she hurried back to her house, the pretence of wanting to borrow some sugar completely forgotten. Potter pushed him away slightly and let go of him. Draco made haste to unlock his door and get inside, where Potter took off his Cloak.

“What the hell was that?”

“Well, she is _unbelievably_ nosey,” Draco explained.

“No kidding,” Potter agreed. “So, _why_ did you tell her those things?”

“Because she _already_ believed it to be true anyways. Not much to be done about that.”

“You could’ve told her we’re just friends.”

“No way she would have believed that! That is the _lamest_ excuse ever.”

“But it’s _not_ an excuse!”

“Yes, I _know_ that, thank you,” Draco said coldly. “I’m sorry if I _offended_ you somehow, but there was no way to avoid that. Unless you wanted to listen to her waxing on about what an _athletic arse_ you are?”

Potter crossed his arms and then immediately let go again to ruffle his hair, which was apparently really _lovely_. First those girls on the bus, now Mrs. Capitelli – was the whole world going blind? Maybe he had _Italian_ hair. Draco really was no expert on the matter.

“I’m not,” Potter said shortly, staring into his eyes defiantly.

“You are being a _colossal_ arse right now,” Draco objected.

Potter rolled his eyes. “I mean I’m not offended, you stupid git.”

“ _Oh_ , okay. Fine ... good,” Draco said lamely, caught off-guard. “Maybe _now_ she will stop trying to set me up.”

“With her old, _married_ nephews, you mean?” Potter grinned.

“Or with her lesbian granddaughter’s bisexual friend, who is apparently _really_ funny.”

“So, he’s hideous?”

“I’m assuming.”

“ _Why_ are you living in a Muggle neighbourhood again?”

Draco bent down to unleash Aurelius and then watched him bound upstairs. “Well, at least they are happy to see me. Maybe a little too much, but still better than people switching to the other side of the street when they see me.”

“They don’t!” Potter said, scandalised.

“Of course they do,” Draco said. “And who can blame them, really?”

“You were _acquitted_! And your parents paid their reparations.” Potter sounded almost angry now. What did _he_ have to be upset about?

“You just said it: acquitted, not absolved of all sins,” Draco said bitterly, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks.

“But –” Potter started, but Draco held up a hand.

“ _Don’t._ I’ve got a respectable job and a steady income, that’s more than I could have asked for.”

Potter looked like he still might argue, but then Draco’s alarm clock went off upstairs. They were left staring at each other silently. The alarm stopped and Aurelius barked three times.

“My shift starts now,” Draco said, opening the door for Potter again, who vanished and bumped into him on his way out.


	19. What We Are Made of [Sunday, December 26th 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, enormous thanks to everybody who commented: Way_Too_Weird_For_Life, BlaseBlanco, hitomu, serilla, Amanda, Al-luraBelle, ThatBoringOne, Fandomwarriorqueen and Santa_Pacifica.  
> I love all of you and getting those notifications always cheers me up so much! 😊 <3

Draco was already exhausted halfway through his shift. Little sleep (while lying practically on the floor) and an ambush by Mrs. Capitelli would do that to anyone. Then there was that constant back and forth with Potter. One moment they got along brilliantly and the next they were almost ripping each other’s throats out.

Worst of all was that Draco found he _liked_ it. Arguing with Potter was always a rush, and Draco’s heart was hammering when he thought back to Potter pressing him up against the wall in a dark alley. If only that had been as filthy as it sounded.

Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about Blaise anymore, he thought as he tended to this shift’s fifth Christmas meal gone wrong (a witch losing control of her self-carving knife and cutting into her own leg instead of the turkey’s).

He didn’t manage to get away until half past midnight, an hour and a half after his shift officially ended. His last patient, a femur fracture, hadn’t deemed it necessary to mention his dragon pox infection until after spending two hours in the crowded waiting room. After that, it was all Draco could do to drag himself to the fireplace and Floo home.

He had barely stepped out of the fire when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and pressed into his couch face down. The intruder pushed him down with one knee against his back, wand pressed against his throat. Draco’s own wand was stored safely inside his scrubs, completely out of reach as he was lying on top of it.

“What do you want?” Draco spat out, and he was relieved to notice that his voice didn’t quiver, even though his heart was racing madly and he felt ice-cold all over.

“Just demonstrating how easy it is to break into your house,” said a rough voice right next to his ear, warm breath tickling his neck.

Draco shivered violently. He knew that voice. He dreamt about that voice, regularly, and not the kind of dreams you told your mother about. Not even the kind he would tell Blaise about, honestly.

“ _Potter_?”

The weight on his back vanished as well as the wand at his throat. Draco rolled over and looked up at Potter, illuminated by the flickering fire, standing over him like some type of predator.

And this was definitely doing something to Draco. Suddenly he didn’t feel tired or cold at all anymore. The blood inside his head was rushing down fast, apparently feeling it was needed somewhere else. And Draco wanted to agree, but there was still the pressing matter of Potter having broken into his house. And also the small inconvenience of Potter not wanting him, of course. Even if he seemed to be roaming his whole body with his eyes.

Draco felt almost naked under his gaze and wanted nothing more than to be naked under _him_. Wishful thinking, of course. Draco was severely sleep-deprived, that was all. He forced his mind out of the gutter with massive effort and pushed himself up.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“Please, as if that’s a challenge.” Potter scoffed, walking over to Draco’s kitchen area. “You gave Blaise unrestricted access. All I had to do was use his Floo.”

“So what? Doesn’t sound that bad to me. Anyone planning to break into my house has to break into Blaise’s first!”

“He has guests over all the time. Piece of cake,” Potter said. “He has a soiree once a month. All you have to do is look rich or famous or influential and you’re in.”

“And which rich, famous and influential wizard would want to break into my house?” Draco asked sarcastically, coming over to stand in front of his dinner table.

“They don’t have to _be_ all that, just _look_ like it,” Potter explained in a tone like he was talking to a child. “A few drops of Polyjuice would be enough.”

“And _where_ would they get that? It’s crazy expensive and you have to be a registered customer to even be able to buy the potion.”

“Brew it themselves?” Potter suggested, opening Draco’s fridge and taking out a dozen containers that had definitely not been there yesterday.

“That’s not exactly easy!”

Should he even ask what Potter was doing? Draco didn’t know anymore. This whole thing just kept getting weirder and weirder. Was that what associating with Harry Potter was usually like?

“Oh please.” Potter set the table with a flick of his wand. “A twelve-year-old can do it.”

“You can’t even get all the ingredients on the open market. You even have to register to buy boomslang skin.”

“ _I’ve_ got a boomslang!”

“By chance!” Draco said. “You didn’t buy it from a certified breeder and I would be surprised to hear that you registered it with the Ministry.”

Potter sidestepped the unasked question. “There’s still the black market and underground events.”

“Potter, this is all highly theoretical! I don’t think anyone would go to such lengths just to get into my house, when they could just throw on a glamour and easily jump me at Mungo’s.”

Contrary to Draco’s expectations, Potter did not seem amused by this. He glared at him while jabbing his wand at the containers. The contents arranged themselves on a plate, forming a miniature Christmas Dinner.

There was a tiny roast turkey complete with mashed potatoes and vegetables, mince pies, Christmas pudding decorated with holly, and two enormous slices of Christmas cake, one of which Potter placed opposite where Draco was standing. Potter sat down in front of it and looked up at him expectantly.

“Sit down and eat, and afterwards I can bully you into letting me improve your security spells.”

“I can _hardly_ wait,” Draco said, sitting down. “Where did you _get_ all this and why did you bring it here?”

Potter grinned broadly. “Blaise mentioned that you have to work tonight and Molly was _very_ distressed. She is really worried because you look so malnourished.”

“I am not _malnourished_!” Draco protested, but Potter just laughed at him, which made Draco scowl. “You seem rather happy.”

“Oh yes,” Potter said, starting to eat his cake at an exceptionally slow pace. “It’s always nice when she worries about somebody else. Oh, that reminds me.”

Potter waved his wand and a squishy package materialised out of thin air. He caught it and slid it across the table towards Draco.

“She made me promise I would deliver this to you.”

Draco regarded the package suspiciously. It was wrapped in green paper and topped with a silver bow. In short, it looked very much like a present. Why would Mrs. Weasley give Draco a present?

Potter was watching him, so Draco got to unwrapping the package very carefully. It finally fell open and Draco stared down at it wordlessly.

“It’s her thing,” Potter explained, daring Draco to say a bad word about it.

Draco unfolded the emerald green sweater. It looked just like the ones Potter and the Weasleys often wore, only that this one had the head of a golden retriever stitched to the front.

“That’s really nice,” Draco said in a husky voice. He cleared his throat and then concentrated very hard on his plate. “She didn’t have to make that for me.”

“She disagrees very much. Saving my life makes you an honorary Weasley, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not charming my hair red.” Draco grimaced, even though he knew for a fact that there were worse families to belong to. Take the Malfoys, for example.

“I’ll tell them,” Potter said, grinning broadly.

They were silent for a minute, Potter savouring his cake and Draco trying his hardest to eat slowly instead of imitating Potter’s usual style and just devouring everything at once. He had not eaten since lunch, more than ten hours ago, and he was starving. He thought about the cornflakes he would undoubtedly have eaten and about the zero presents he had anticipated.

He felt close to tears. Sleep deprivation really did make people rather emotional. Better find a safe topic to take his mind off how _pathetically_ lonely he was – not right now, necessarily, more as a general theme in his life.

Draco cleared his throat. “Did you Confound my neighbour this afternoon?” he asked casually, cutting his brussels sprouts.

“That would be highly immoral,” Potter said. “Seeing as she is a Muggle and all that.”

“And everybody knows you are the embodiment of morality.”

“ _Yep_.”

“Never used magic on a Muggle ...,” Draco continued.

Potter nodded, concentrating on dividing the last tiny bit of cake yet again, but Draco could hear him mutter under his breath, _“... who didn’t deserve it.”_

Draco was all ears. “ _Do_ tell. Knowing that even our Saviour has his moments of weakness always makes me feel better,” he said eagerly, pushing his empty plate aside and starting on his slice of cake.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that!” Potter protested. “And don’t call me that name.”

“Well, I did hear, so spill.”

“ _Only_ if you let me improve your warding.”

Draco thought about it for a few seconds but in the end, his curiosity won out. “You may do _reasonable_ adjustments.”

“Deal. Okay, let’s see ...,” Potter said, rocking his chair back and forth on two legs. “There was this one time when I blew up my uncle’s sister, obviously.”

“ _Obviously_?” Draco asked. “And that was justified, because ...?”

“She badmouthed my parents and suggested _drowning_ me would have been a more sensible course of action than taking me in.”

“Ah yes, that would do it. Do go on.”

“I used a tripping spell on some bodybuilder type who was looking for a fight at the pub. He would have _obliterated_ me.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t at all contribute to this fight developing?”

“Well, he might have said something about my scar, so I might have said something about having to compensate some things with muscles.”

“Naturally.”

“And then there was that incident when I sicked a boa on my cousin and his friend. But that was before I knew I could even do that, so I don’t think it really counts.”

“You accidentally set a snake on your cousin because you didn’t know it could understand you?”

“Oh no, _that_ I knew. I just didn’t know I could make the glass at the zoo vanish.”

Draco was very confused. “You didn’t ... _why_?”

“Because I was only ten years old,” Potter said matter-of-factly.

“You didn’t manifest until you were _ten_?” Draco asked, disbelieving. “Hard to believe your impulse control was better back then.”

Potter didn’t seem bothered at all. “Oh no, I did loads of stuff before that. I just didn’t know it was _magic_ I was doing.”

Draco put away his fork to fully concentrate on Potter. “What did you _think_ it was?”

“I thought it was some type of whirlwind when I suddenly ended up on the roof of my old school,” Potter said thoughtfully. “And my hair growing back in one night after a brutal hair cut was definitely due to a genetic abnormality.”

Draco laughed. “Sad to hear there is nothing anybody could do about your hair. But I definitely agree with you, that mob is an abnormality beyond compare.”

“Nice of you to notice,” Potter said, and then he leaned over and stole the last of Draco’s cake.

“So, you didn’t know about any of it until you got your letter? Your _relatives_ didn’t know about us?”

Potter scoffed, frowning at his empty plate. “Oh, they _knew_ alright. They just hoped it would go away if they hushed it up.”

“ _Go away_?” Draco was appalled. He had never considered that anyone would rather their relatives were not magical. And _Harry Potter’s_ family had hoped he were a Squib? That was just absurd!

“They wanted the perfect suburban life, you know? You have the perfectly attentive housewife and the perfect husband, who wears a suit to work, and the perfect son, who goes to a prestigious school.”

“And what was your role?” Draco asked, thinking about all the social events his parents had hosted in the past, always introducing him to _important_ people.

“Mostly to hide and pretend I didn’t exist,” Potter said matter-of-factly.

Draco just gaped at him open-mouthed. He couldn’t even think of something to say to that. Never in a million years would he have thought that Potter, of all people, would be someone his family wanted to keep a secret.

“Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t even that bad. I was more bothered by having to pretend to attend a special school for _dangerous_ boys later on.”

“You’re taking the piss now, right?”

“I wish,” Potter said tonelessly, charming the empty plates and containers to scrub themselves in the sink. Before Draco could ask anything else, Potter got up and rolled up his sleeves. “Alright, on to the fun part.”

Watching Potter fix his security spells wasn’t fun _at all_. Draco had a hard time dissuading Potter from making his house an invisible, unplottable fortress.

In the end, they settled on banning anyone but the residents from entering his house directly. Nobody but Draco would be able to Apparate directly inside and every single Floo transport had to be approved by him. Draco had a small victory in persuading Potter to still allow Floo calls, as nobody would be able to come through just because of that.

Potter did all the spells nonverbally and Draco had to admit he didn’t recognise most of the wand movements. Potter clearly was an expert when it came to these things. Or maybe he was just insanely overcautious.

As Draco laid in bed an hour later, thinking about Potter’s Invisibility Cloak and his glamour and his nightmares and the way he didn’t want any strangers touching him, he was sure that it was the latter. Potter was definitely not okay and probably hiding behind a vast number of spells, even six years later.

~o~

Draco was woken up by the _tiniest_ owl he had ever seen steadily tapping against his window. He opened the window and the owl flew in, promptly orbiting his head. He had to catch it in mid-air (calling on every last bit of Seeker’s skill he still possessed) to be able to untie the small scroll of parchment from its leg.

_Malfoy,_

_just making sure owls still reach you._

_Also, wanna come to our New Year’s Bash at Shell Cottage? The Falcons and Harpies will be there and also some of Bill and Fleur’s friends. You can have it out with Blaise there too. Send your answer with Pig so I will get it directly._

_Harry_

Draco summoned a new piece of parchment (even though he easily could have fit his answer on the back of Potter’s letter – so _what_ if he wanted to keep it?) and wrote his reply.

_Good Morning to you too, Potter,_

_I am not entirely sure if you can call this feathery Snitch an owl, but yes, I got your letter._

_I am pretty confident I will be able to get New Year’s Eve off. See you there._

_Draco_

He was on the fence for a few seconds about how to end his letter. Signing his initials somehow seemed wrong, as Potter had just put his first name. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. They never called each other by their first names, and thinking about Potter as _Harry_ felt really weird.

But maybe Potter _wanted_ to get to a first-name-basis? He at least seemed to want him there at the party.

 _And_ he had brought him Christmas Dinner. Had they really become friends somewhere along the way? That was something friends did, right?

Draco hoped the party would clear things up for him.


	20. Pick Your Poison [Friday, December 31st 2004]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to: Fan, Aeimnestos, Amanda, Superfan1224, serilla, hitomu, ThatBoringOne, night, TweetArya and ZanyNY  
> First off: Thank you all so much for all your nice words! I’ve been smiling all day. 😊 
> 
> This fic has been in my head for the last two years and hearing that you enjoy reading it just as much as I did writing it is the most rewarding feeling. I honestly care much more about the comments than the kudos (but maybe I just don’t understand the Archive well enough 😉).
> 
> I’ll definitely continue updating daily (with the occasional two chapters a day if they are too short). This fic is completely finished and ready to go, so there will be no hiatuses (unless I get hit by a bus, but that doesn’t seem very likely at the moment).
> 
> Also, I’m afraid you’ll have to keep reading to see how their relationship develops. I not going to spoil anything. 😉 
> 
> Let’s have a party, then!

It felt like the whole of Wizarding England and France had come. A huge magical dome had been erected above the garden, keeping the cold wind and occasional rain out and the warmth from several bonfires in, while still letting out the smoke. It rather felt like sitting inside a snow globe, only with confetti soaring down from the dome instead of snow.

Potter had spotted him immediately and grabbed his arm to tow him through the crowd, introducing him to a ton of people as _‘the bad-ass Healer who saved his life and career’_. Draco found that people were infinitely friendlier and more willing to talk to him when someone as influential as Potter introduced him like that.

At the end of their tour (which took more than half an hour, as there were so many people) Draco was pulled into a heated discussion about experimental healing techniques with a group of French mediwitches and only realised fifteen minutes in that Potter had vanished.

He spotted him sitting around one of the bonfires with his team, feeding scraps of food to the salamanders flitting through the flames. He was laughing happily and Draco’s heart clenched suddenly.

He didn’t hear the witches anymore as a horrible realisation gripped him tight.

Merlin, _no_. Why did it have to be him?!

He didn’t have a crush on Potter.

When had been the last time he hadn’t been thinking about him for fifteen whole minutes, apart from at work (and even there, he couldn’t guarantee it)? He was always _looking_ for him, thought about him _constantly_ , _everything_ reminded him of Potter.

He had kept that ridiculous sweater and wore it around the house sometimes, for fuck’s sake! And the reason for that certainly _wasn’t_ that it was just so comfortable, however much he told himself that. If he was being _really_ honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t even have washed it if he hadn’t worn it to a pub and then slept in it. How was _that_ for pathetic?

He should have bailed long ago, broken off the contact, but he had been too weak and now look where it had gotten him.

He actually _liked_ Harry fucking Potter. Like-Liked him. With feelings and everything.

What was he supposed to do? It clearly would not go away on its own – waiting had only made it _so_ much worse. Draco almost wished that Potter _were_ seeing Blaise.

There was nothing else for it – Draco had to tell him.

He had to come clean and then wait for Potter to cut him off. Staying away would be so much easier if Potter didn’t surprise him at home all the time or invite him to parties.

Yes, he would tell him. This would be his New Year’s resolution. He would tell him first thing after midnight and be done with it. Start the new year fresh. This meant he still had two hours to mentally prepare himself.

A waitress dressed in black and white robes came by and Draco put his empty cup on the tray she was carrying. If he wanted to do this right, he had to keep a level head. He had to keep a firm grip on his impulse control to avoid a repetition of what had happened the last time he was at Shell Cottage.

Jumping the _real_ Potter definitely would not help Draco get over him.

He risked another glance at Potter and instantly wished for his drink back as their eyes met.

Potter seemed to hesitate for a second and then grabbed Beater Leona Robinson’s cup and emptied it on the spot, much to her protest. He grabbed both his neighbours’ shoulders and pulled himself up, looking over at him once more. Merlin, he looked pretty determined.

He wasn’t coming _over_ , was he? Draco wasn’t ready to face him _right now_!

“Draco!” Blaise spun him around by one arm suddenly. “There you are! I’m going crazy!”

 _‘Get in line,’_ thought Draco, only panicking a little bit.

And then Blaise pulled him away from the mediwitches, flashing them his most charming smile, and over to the patio, which was momentarily deserted.

“It’s a nightmare. Did you know there is a thing called _‘Wanda’s Wandless Waiters’_? She employs only Squibs.”

Draco shook his head, frowning at Blaise. Maybe it was his recent catastrophic epiphany, but Draco wasn’t following. “Squibs are a nightmare?”

“They _are_ if they sell their hair for Poly-Parties and then get booked for my _girlfriend’s_ New Year’s Bash!”

Draco raised an eyebrow expertly, finding solace in the fact that he was neither too drunk nor too freaked out to not be able to still do this. “Your _girlfriend_ , you say? I would not know about that.”

“It’s not _my_ fault you don’t recognise attraction when it _stares_ you in the face,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry that I clearly overestimated your observation skills. Can we please focus on the real problem now? This feels like a convention for all the people I’ve shagged. And of course, the _Squibs_ don’t know _me_ , which makes it even worse somehow.”

“I think it’s hilarious,” Draco said, but he only managed a rather weak grin. “Reaping what you sowed and all that.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty. I’m not the only one who goes to those parties!”

“I don’t see _Potter_ running around like a hippogriff with its head cut off,” Draco said, looking over to the bonfire automatically.

Oh _no_.

Potter had vanished and his place had been taken by Ginny, who was now talking to Leona Robinson animatedly. Draco resisted the urge to turn around and search the crowd for him. He could imagine what Blaise would have to say about that.

“Fine, so maybe I’ve gone to more of those parties than he has and he doesn’t know the donors from earlier cycles. But still! This is a matter of principle.”

Draco just snorted. “You will live. You manage to face _Potter_ all the time, and with her there too.”

“That’s different,” Blaise said with a wave of his hand. “We have other things to talk about, so it’s easy to just pretend it never happened.”

“That sounds like healthy coping,” Draco said, looking around to check out the Squibs (and keep himself from asking how Potter was in bed). “Which ones did you sleep with?”

Blaise pointed out a pretty blond guy and a rather muscular man with very broad shoulders. Yeah, Draco wouldn’t have turned down those two either.

“My advice: just pick a waiter whose Poly-Twin you haven’t done _unspeakable_ things to and stick with him for the rest of the night.”

“They are just ‘unspeakable’ because your dry spell has gone on for so long that you don’t even know how sex _works_ anymore,” Blaise countered. Rude.

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Blaise just patted his arm and tried leaving him standing there. Draco followed him to the bonfire and they sat down next to Ginny (after checking that Potter was still nowhere to be seen).

Draco had _just_ sat down when Potter reappeared out of nowhere, offering Robinson a cup.

“Here, mixed it myself,” he said, grinning crookedly. He definitely didn’t look all that sober anymore and his hair was standing up in all directions.

“Your concoctions could paralyse an Erumpent! You could’ve just brought me the same drink you _stole_ from me,” Robinson protested, sniffing at the cup. “Why do you always do this to me?”

“Because you’re the _only_ one who even still drinks them.” Potter grinned dazedly, giving Draco a sidelong glance that made his stomach drop. Drunk Potter had bedroom eyes. _Perfect_.

“Sit down already, before you topple over and into the fire,” Flynn Montgomery – one of the Falcons’ Chasers – said. “Matt would skin you alive. He said you’re not allowed to injure yourself until _after_ our match against Puddlemere.”

“When is that?” Draco asked in a desperate attempt at concentrating on anyone but Potter, who was still hovering behind Robinson. Much too close.

“On the sixteenth,” said Robinson.

“Good luck with that.” Draco laughed. He sounded normal, right? “No _way_ he can manage that long.”

Potter tried to shoot him what Draco suspected to be a scathing look, and failed miserably because he didn’t seem to have his eyebrows under control anymore. His eyes didn’t seem to fully focus on him either.

Draco stood up and gestured at his seat. “There, you can sit here. I need to find something to eat anyway.”

“Comin’,” Potter said at once, sounding more inarticulate by the minute.

Draco had the nagging feeling that Potter wanted to talk to him, which was the complete opposite of what _Draco_ wanted right now. He needed time to come to terms with what he was about to do. Maybe make up a speech or something. Or, if he was being honest, talk himself out of it before midnight.

He shook his head and guided Potter over to the empty seat by his arm. “You should really sit down; I’ll send someone over to you with food.”

“But –” Potter protested, trying to stand up again and failing.

Blaise put a hand on his arm to keep him down. “Maybe you should also stop drinking,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t even –” Potter began, but then he seemed to lose his thread and just stared into the flames instead.

“ _Lightweight_ ,” Montgomery scoffed and the rest of them laughed.

Draco took his chance and cleared off. He found himself some food, sent a waitress over to Potter with the greasiest food she had and then joined Luna and Thomas in a game of Exploding Snap to keep his mind off things. And if he was procrastinating, who could blame him?

After the third round, he spotted Potter coming towards them and hurriedly ducked into the crowd and fled. It was definitely not midnight yet; he still had some time left.

Now he was sitting on the ground in front of the cottage, picking at some bread on a stick. This did _not_ count as hiding, thank you very much.

“ _Draco._ We need to talk,” someone said above him. He looked up at Blaise, who was standing there with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“What did I do?” Draco asked, instantly suspicious.

“Are you _avoiding_ Harry?” Well, if that didn’t sound like an accusation.

Draco frowned at him. If he could do one thing, it was faking total calmness. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, he seems to think so. He’s been sulking all night and drinking his weight in alcohol too, by the looks of it.”

“What’s that got to do with _me_?”

“He’s been stumbling around for the last ten minutes, asking for you. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you. It would be funny if it weren’t so _pathetic_.”

Draco groaned and tipped his head back so he could look at the dome. Some confetti got caught in his eyelashes and he blew it away.

“I _may_ have been avoiding him a little bit,” Draco admitted reluctantly. “But I’m not really looking forward to what he could want to talk about, especially when he is that drunk. He probably has some kind of speech prepared, about how he forgives me for my sins, because he is just _that_ heroic.”

“Since when are you such a chicken?” Blaise said. “Just go talk to him, _please_. Before he finds another waiter to supply him, preferably.”

“ _Fine._ ” Draco groaned again, letting Blaise pull him to his feet. “But just five minutes, _tops_!”

Blaise steered him over to the house. “Have it your idiotic way. Come on, we put him on the couch inside.”

But just as they approached the back door, it opened. Both of them stopped to watch Potter, who was leaning against the door frame with his eyes closed, taking shallow breaths. He was unnaturally pale and his hair was sticking to his forehead.

“ _Need Malfoy_ ,” Potter mumbled, almost imperceptible.

Draco dashed forward just as Potter lost consciousness, barely catching him before he hit the floor.

“Get Granger!” Draco yelled. Then he Disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Falmouth Falcons as envisioned by me: Phaedra Armstrong, Flynn Montgomery, Leona Robinson, Easton Haynes, Florence Mills, Lauryn Mason, HP 😊 


	21. How Did This Get So Dark? [Saturday, January 1st 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never let it be said that I left you hanging!  
> Thanks for commenting to Superfan1224, illindalenti, Fan, AlluraBelle and Fandomwarriorqueen 😉

The Healers had to purify Potter’s blood three times over as many hours until the poison was completely cleared out. Since they did not know how or with what Potter had been poisoned, it was hard to tell what the long-term consequences would entail.

Draco was not allowed to help with the healing, as he was not completely sober and this was not his ward. He had to stay in the waiting room with Potter’s family instead, forced to wait for news.

Nobody said anything, which meant that Draco had time to thoroughly beat himself up over what had happened. He was a _Healer_ ; he should have recognised the signs. Nobody declined _that_ quickly just from alcohol. But Draco had done his best to avoid Potter, who had asked around for him the whole time.

Had Potter even wanted to _talk_ to him? Maybe he had felt ill much sooner and tried to get a hold of him because of it? Had Draco endangered Potter’s life because he could not deal with his unrequited feelings?

~o~

Around half past two, Healer Redwood came to take the family for a quick visit while Draco stayed outside his room with Blaise, feeling more than a little out of place. This was where the Aurors found them.

All three of them were wearing shield vests and wand holsters. They had forgone their long scarlet robes, which Draco found quite unsettling. When an Auror went to make an arrest, they typically did not wear an immensely impractical robe but something they could actually fight in if need be. And they had suspected Blaise once before already.

Draco recognised the greying wizard in the middle as William Mulberry, Head of the Auror Office. Splendid. With him were Auror Lancaster, who had stood guard at Potter’s wing the last time, and a young witch with short, frizzy hair and a thin scar that went down the length of her throat and vanished underneath her shirt.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini,” Mulberry said calmly, “We’ve got a few questions.”

“Are we in trouble?” Blaise blurted out, like an idiot. Way to seem unsuspicious. Draco stepped on his foot to keep him from saying anything else.

“No, we are not, because we didn’t _do_ anything,” he said pointedly, holding Mulberry’s gaze. “Please ignore what he just said. Blaise is still a little traumatised by the last time he was wrongfully accused of attempting assassination.”

“Not to worry,” Mulberry replied, exchanging a glance with the young witch to his right. “We are only taking everybody’s accounts of the events that took place at tonight’s party.”

Mulberry jerked his head in Lancaster’s direction, who promptly took his place at Potter’s door, crossing his arms in an intimidating display of biceps that threatened to burst through his shirt sleeves.

Mulberry indicated the vacant room opposite Potter’s. “In here, Mr. Zabini. Mr. Malfoy, please follow Auror Jenkins.”

Though he was anxious to leave Blaise alone with Mulberry, there was nothing Draco could do about it.

He followed Jenkins into a room at the end of the hall and sat down in the only guest chair at her behest. She stood leaning against the wardrobe next to the door, effectively blocking the only exit.

“My name is Carys Jenkins, personnel number A 15735. This memory will be extracted by an authorised Auror for further investigation. Please state your name and occupation.”

“I am Draco Lucius Malfoy.” His voice broke there and he had to clear his throat, closing his eyes briefly.

The last time he had been interrogated had been right after the war, for days on end. He couldn’t think of that now, he had to keep calm. He wasn’t facing Azkaban this time, because he had done nothing illegal, for once. Just stay calm.

“I am a Trauma Healer at St. Mungo’s.”

“You were at the Weasleys’ New Year’s Party at Shell Cottage?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Please tell me everything you remember.”

Draco had to give it to her – though she couldn’t have been older than him, she was definitely good at her job. He had the displeasure of encountering all kinds of Aurors over the years and it was very easy to spot the bad ones. They usually asked all kinds of pointed questions, trying to get the answer they wanted and not the one they needed. Jenkins seemed at least willing to listen to his own account of the events.

“I arrived at Shell Cottage around nine. Potter introduced me to some of the other guests and then went to sit with his Quidditch team at the fire. I made conversation with some French mediwitches. Then Blaise fetched me to come over to the bonfire. Potter came back there some time later. He gave Leona Robinson something to drink. Seemed like he is somewhat notorious for mixing his own drinks. He also seemed to be quite drunk already.”

“What time was that?” Jenkins prompted.

“Definitely after ten. Maybe a quarter past?”

“Please continue.”

“I went to find some food. Potter wanted to join me, but I thought he looked unwell, so I told him to stay. I sent a waitress over with something to eat, to get him to sober up.”

Draco decided to omit the fact that he had tried to avoid Potter at any cost. It wasn’t relevant and might have looked suspicious.

“Blaise had already told him to stop drinking. I ran into Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas, and we played a few rounds of Exploding Snap. Then I went for some bread, that was maybe around eleven. I briefly saw him in the crowd. He seemed rather drunk, could hardly walk in a straight line.”

Draco broke off, staring at the floor to his feet. His hands were twitching nervously, so he folded them in his lap.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Jenkins said cautiously, as if afraid he might snap.

He cleared his throat again, trying to swallow the lump that had built up inside of it.

“ _Sorry_ ,” he croaked. “It just seems so idiotic in hindsight. I should have noticed something. I’ve seen him drunk before and he could still talk then, even if it didn’t necessarily make sense. But last night, he just stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, like he couldn’t remember what he was doing a second ago. That was uncharacteristic.”

“But you did bring him in, didn’t you? You caught on eventually.” She uncrossed her arms, maybe to seem less aggressive, more approachable.

“I still thought it was alcohol poisoning when I brought him here. Blaise told me that Potter went around looking for me, and that they put him on the couch inside. So, I went with Blaise. Potter collapsed right in front of us, right there on the threshold. I told Blaise to get Granger. I Apparated us to St. Mungo’s. Later, Healer Redwood informed us that Potter ingested a large amount of some potion. Far too much for somebody of his stature. He could still die.”

Draco turned to look out of the window, trying to get his burning eyes under control. He was a Malfoy, for crying out loud. This was humiliating.

“Potion doesn’t make its way into anybody’s cup by accident. Somebody did it on purpose, but who would? I didn’t meet a single person there who did not seem to like him,” he concluded, just to say anything and distract from his emotional display. Simply embarrassing.

“That’s what we are trying to find out,” Jenkins said, giving him a small smile. Was she trying to cheer him up now? Or trying to lull him into a false sense of security? She looked down at her pocket-book, ticking some things off and skipping others.

“Mr. Malfoy, did you see anybody give Mr. Potter something to eat or drink?”

“Well, the waitress I sent probably did. She was a little shorter than me, maybe forty years old. I think she was a brunette.”

“Anybody else come to mind?”

Draco tried to remember but came up empty-handed. He hadn’t exactly paid attention to that kind of thing. He had been more concerned with processing his enormous epiphany. He shook his head sullenly.

“I see. And who invited you to the party?”

“Potter sent me an owl a week ago.”

“And how would you describe your relationship with Mr. Potter?”

_Complicated._

“Unlikely as it sounds, we are friends.”

_Until Draco tells him, that is._

“I also treat him frequently. He spends a lot of time at St. Mungo’s, most of it trauma-related. That’s what I specialised in.”

“And what is Mr. Zabini’s relationship with Mr. Potter?”

_One shag too many._

“They are friends, as well. Blaise is dating Ginny Weasley, which is why they see each other all the time. They are also working on a broom together. The three of them.”

_Without him. Not that he’d want in on that catastrophe. It was just that they could definitely have used a Healer now and then._

“That wouldn’t happen to be the Lightning Blast?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow. “The one Mr. Potter had his accident on?”

“They are improving it!” Draco said defensively. “They are searching for ways to make it safer. No foul play there at all.”

“I didn’t _say_ there was, did I?”

“Your face told me,” Draco replied coldly. “Look, Auror Jenkins. I’ve known Blaise since I was four. He’s boastful and vain and materialistic and incredibly proud. But he is not an evil person. He never joined the Death Eaters, never showed any inclination he was even considering it. He would never do something like this.”

Draco remembered Blaise’s face rather vividly, the horror in his eyes when he thought Sooky could have killed Potter. Draco knew what murderers looked like and Blaise was not one of them.

Jenkins closed her notebook and gestured towards the door. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You are free to go.”

~o~

Granger was waiting for him in front of Potter’s room, talking to Lancaster quietly. When he approached them, she looked up anxiously. 

“Blaise went home with Ginny. Harry’s still unconscious. Will you stay and wait for him to wake up?” she asked silently. “They won’t let us, but you work here, so I can authorise you.”

Draco just nodded and went in. And this was why, once again, Draco was keeping vigil by Potter’s bedside, though he had to leave his wand outside this time.

Draco did not read or practice spells like he had last time, since he did not feel like he could concentrate on anything besides staring at Potter’s lifeless hand, which was lying beside his body above the blanket.

 _‘I must not tell lies’_ , it read. Draco felt addressed. He should have told Potter the truth instead of putting it off until a later time. He took Potter’s icy hand into his own and squeezed it slightly.

“I am sorry,” Draco whispered. “Please do me a favour and don’t die.”

“– _’m getting good at it_ ,” Potter mumbled back, opening his eyes just the teeniest bit. His hand remained still in Draco’s.

Draco laughed desperately, sounding more like he was about to cry. “You’re the _worst_ at dying. Never manage to stay dead.”

But Potter’s eyes were already closed again and there wasn’t a response, though he was still breathing steadily. Draco couldn’t make himself let go of his hand again, so he stayed in his chair for the next five hours.


	22. Out of Focus [Saturday, January 1st 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We just passed 100 subscriptions!! Big thanks to everybody who reads this, subscribed, left kudos or bookmarked.  
> As always, special thanks to ZanyNY, Superfan1224, ThatBoringOne, night, illindalenti, Obsessed362, Fandomwarriorqueen, Fan and BlaseBlanco 😊 I really appreciate you taking the time to write down your thoughts and speculations!

_“Malfoy!”_

Draco’s eyes flew open. He was still sitting in his chair, upper body bent over. His head was resting on Potter’s legs. He let go of the hand he was still holding and sat up groaning, much to the protest of his back.

Potter was watching him intently. “Something is wrong. Everything feels inverted.”

“What do you mean, _‘inverted’_?” Draco asked, instantly alert.

“I mean that _this_ happens when I try to lift my hand,” Potter said, raising his left hand a few inches.

Draco let go of the anxious breath he’d been holding. “Looks good to me?”

“I’m trying to lift my _right_ hand, you idiot.”

“Looks slightly less good,” Draco agreed, getting up. “I’ll find a Healer.”

“ _No!_ ” Potter yelled, sitting bolt upright. “ _You_ are a Healer. I don’t need another one.”

“I’m on _Trauma_ , not on _Potions_ , Potter.”

“ _Please!_ ” Potter said, reaching out with his left hand and completely missing Draco, who stood to his right.

“Calm down,” Draco said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “I will not just find the next best Healer I stumble upon, alright? I’ll find someone _absolutely_ trustworthy.”

“Can’t _you_ just do it?” Potter pleaded.

“You don’t _really_ want me to do it. I’m not exactly up-to-date when it comes to potion complications.”

It took another few minutes (and the promise to inform Granger promptly) to persuade Potter to let him go find someone else.

As it turned out, Potter must have taken a _massive_ overdose of what seemed to be Confounding Concoction. This was not a poison _per se_ , but had the effect of slowly paralysing the recipient’s organs when taken in larger doses.

Healer Patil (the Ravenclaw one) estimated that it would take a good three weeks to fully shake off the symptoms. This alone was enough to make Potter’s blood boil, but when she proceeded to tell him that he would have to spend one week of that time at St. Mungo’s, Potter flat-out refused and sent Patil to prepare his release forms.

“Harry, be _reasonable_ ,” Granger tried to argue with him, as the door closed behind Patil.

“I am not spending another night here, Hermione!” Potter said adamantly.

“Fine, come live with _us_ then,” Granger said. Potter shook his head before she had even finished the sentence.

“I don’t want to burden you. You’ve both got work, you can’t _babysit_ me all the time.”

“You are not a _burden_ , Harry! How many times do I have to tell you?” she said exasperatedly, but Potter just looked at her coldly. “Fine, then stay at the Burrow. Molly doesn’t have to work anyway, and you know she would _gladly_ take you.”

Potter just looked at her blankly, his mouth pressed together in a thin line. Draco had a feeling that Potter had more than one reason not to stay at the Burrow, _none_ of which he wanted to reveal to Granger.

“ _Malfoy_ can stay with me,” he blurted out suddenly, startling all of them.

“I can?” Draco said.

“Yeah, why not? I’ll just pay your wage for the whole week, overtime and all,” Potter seemed very enthusiastic all of a sudden. “You can do whatever, read or something. It will be a walk in the park. Just see that I don’t stumble down the stairs or something.”

“Harry, are you _sure_?” Granger said hesitantly. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

Draco wasn’t sure either, but probably not for the same reasons as Granger. How was he supposed to survive a whole week cooped up with Potter at Grimmauld Place?

He had resolved to tell Potter about his feelings, but now was hardly the time, was it? You just didn’t tell someone you liked them right after they almost _died_ (again). That was the easiest way to make them believe it was just a spur of the moment thing.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry. He knows CPR and everything,” Potter said, looking up at Draco with his bright green eyes.

And that was all it took for Draco to cave. Not that he knew what weird Muggle thing _‘CPR’_ even stood for. “Fine, I’ll do it – if Meadows goes along with it!”

Granger sighed heavily, but Potter beamed at him and that was all the affirmation Draco needed. He would have to send an owl to Blaise so he would know to take care of Aurelius for him. He certainly wouldn’t be leaving Potter alone to walk the dog and he sure as _hell_ wouldn’t take Potter outside with them.

When Patil came back with the papers, Granger signed them reluctantly and then helped Draco transport Potter to the next fireplace. They had decided that this would be the safest way to get Potter home, as he was definitely not fit to Apparate.

Granger handed Potter’s wand over to Draco for safekeeping and then helped both of them squeeze into the fireplace. Draco put an arm around Potter’s waist as a precaution and then threw some Floo powder into the flames.

“Number twenty-two, Grimmauld Place,” Potter said and they were off.

~o~

When Potter stumbled out of the fireplace this time, Draco was prepared and managed to keep both of them on their feet. He deposited him on the chair that stood nearest to the fire and then looked around.

They were in the dining room, which looked nothing like the ones Draco was used to from his childhood. The floor was made from white marble, but the walls were painted a plain cream and not panelled with wood like the ancient Pure-blood homes usually were.

Then there were the paintings – the one above the fireplace depicted abstract blue-and-green shapes and another next to the door showed a blue potions bottle. Draco wasn’t even sure if they were magical paintings, as not a single one showed a witch or wizard. The door itself was enormous – two-winged, arching and with glass-panels at the top.

Even the fireplace was new, black and white like the table (which had a glass top), the eight chairs grouped around it, and the carpet underneath them. Two of the walls were completely comprised of windows.

They were on the ground floor and Draco could look out at the street, where a few people were passing by, never once looking at them. He was pretty sure that the building was completely invisible to them.

Draco had always assumed that Potter did not set much store in Pure-blood heirlooms. But when he thought about what all of the Black interior must have been worth, his stomach turned. He really hoped Potter had not just vanished everything.

“ _This_ is Grimmauld Place?” Draco asked, just to make sure.

“Yeah, this is where I live,” Potter said, looking up at him. “Why?”

“What did you do to it?”

“I ... renovated?” Potter said, puzzled. “That’s what you do when you move in, right?”

“I didn’t,” Draco said.

Potter grinned. “Is that why your wallpaper has a flower pattern?”

“Only in the hallway!” Draco protested. “What did you do with all the stuff that was inside the house?”

“Nothing. It was empty when I bought it,” Potter said. “You know this is not the Black house?”

“You have _another_ house at Grimmauld Place?”

“Yeah. That way I can keep an eye on it,” Potter said, gesturing at the window. “And nobody would suspect that I live right across from it.”

Draco looked outside. “Which one is it?”

“You’d know it if you could see it,” Potter said. “But nice to know that you can’t.”

They made their way into the kitchen, which was situated right across the dining room. Going straight was not so much of a problem for Potter, it was only the directions that were tricky. Draco still supported him with an arm around his waist. Potter _was_ paying him, after all.

“You smell like _smoke_ ,” Potter declared, wrinkling his nose.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I did not get a chance to shower in between dragging your arse to St. Mungo’s and making sure you don’t just snuff it during the night,” Draco said sarcastically.

“You are forgiven,” Potter said generously, taking a sniff at himself. “I smell like _hospita_ l.”

“You smell like _magic_ ,” Draco corrected. “Mostly the hygienic spells they do for healing.”

“I hate that; always makes me feel really _artificial_. Like a robot,” Potter complained, sitting down at the kitchen island.

“What’s that?” Draco asked, looking around.

The kitchen was just as modern as the sitting room, apparently completely made from steel. It was also entirely free of clutter. A tea kettle stood on the worktop, which was completely empty beyond that. There were no wall cupboards, as two of the walls comprised of windows from the worktops up. This seemed to be the general theme of Potter’s house.

“It’s a construction Muggles use to do things for them. They are metal and can perform tasks,” Potter tried to explain. He must have noticed the confusion on Draco’s face, because he seemed to think for a few seconds. “Imagine if you could use the _Imperius_ on a suit of armour and make it do whatever you want. That’s basically what a robot is.”

“Impressive. Without using any magic?” Draco said, opening some of the cupboards at random. All of them contained cookware, neatly stacked.

“Yep,” Potter said, “They go to great lengths. What are you searching for?”

“Food. Don’t you have any? All I see are pots and pans. Nobody needs that many.”

“ _I_ do,” Potter disagreed. “Food is in the pantry, that’s the door right there.” Potter pointed out at the street. Draco raised an eyebrow at him and Potter frowned.

“Wrong side, _again_ ,” he grumbled and then lifted his other hand to point at a door opposite the window. “There it is.”

Potter’s pantry was full to bursting and still the neatest Draco had ever seen. Everything seemed to have its place. Jugs of milk were placed in precise rows and even the potatoes were stacked to form a pyramid. Draco felt like he had fallen into one of those glossy interior design magazines his neighbour Mrs. Maloney liked to read. Potter’s house was _too_ tidy, without that lived-in feeling Draco’s house had. It reminded him of the Manor.

Draco went searching for any of the convenience products he usually bought, but couldn’t find any. What was he supposed to _do_ with all this? He usually ate some cereal for breakfast, but that was completely missing from Potter’s pantry. All he managed to find was some bread and jam in a plain jar.

As he turned to enter the kitchen again, he noticed the quill that was flying across a piece of parchment on the wall, writing down ‘whole-grain bread’ as well as ‘strawberries’, ‘jam sugar’ and ‘vanilla’.

“Do you _make_ your jam?” Draco asked, placing his findings on the table.

Potter grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

Now that he had successfully escaped St. Mungo’s, he seemed to be in exceptionally high spirits. He was looking at the hallway door – or rather the wall next to it, which Draco hadn’t been able to see before. It looked like it didn’t belong in Potter’s neat, completely impersonal house. A plethora of children’s drawings were pinned to it, most of them signed _‘Ted’_.

“And you are an artist as well,” Draco added with a smirk. “I don’t know why you even bothered with Hogwarts.”

“But who would’ve wiped that smug look off your face if I hadn’t been there?” Potter said, turning the long way around to face the kitchen island.

Draco refrained from engaging and instead spread jam on a slice of bread and placed it in Potter’s left hand, which seemed to be operating more steadily than his right one.

“Just imagine you’re holding it in your right hand and you should be fine,” Draco advised.

Potter managed to eat his breakfast pretty well, if at a much slower pace than usual – which Draco saw as an added bonus if he was being honest. They were just finished when the window opened on its own and that bloody eagle owl flew in, landing on an empty barstool.

“That _yours_?” Draco asked with a disdainful glance at the owl. “I _hate_ that creature.”

“Nah, Odysseus is Matt’s owl. What did he ever do to you?” Potter grinned, feeding the owl the last of his bread.

“He bit me!” Draco protested. “And he kept vigil by your bedside after your last near-death experience, every night at the same time. Bloody creepy.”

“He must like me more than you,” Potter said smugly, picking up his letter with some difficulty and then struggling to break the seal. “Little help?”

Draco took the letter from him, steering clear of the owl, which was glaring at him intently. He unrolled the parchment and read it out to Potter, who wouldn’t be able to read for a few more days at the very least.

_Dear Harry,_

_I just got word that you’ve already been discharged. The whole team was immensely worried about you. They told me that everybody at the party has been thoroughly interrogated by the Aurors. They seem confident that they will find the person responsible._

_I wish you a speedy recovery. Is there any estimate on when you will be back with us?_

_Best wishes,_

_Matt_

Draco looked at Potter, who had flinched intensely. He was looking back at him, apparently thunderstruck.

“Puddlemere! How could I forget about the match?” he said, banging his left hand onto his empty plate, making both of them jump and causing Odysseus to give a startled shriek.

“Could have something to do with being severely Confunded?” Draco said. “I was thinking you were suspiciously calm about the whole ordeal.”

“Which ordeal?” Potter asked, massaging his hand.

“You know ... being poisoned at your own New Year’s party?”

“Poisoned?” Potter said, looking positively puzzled.

“Why else would the Aurors get involved?” Draco asked, narrowing his eyes at him.

Potter frowned. “What’s that about Aurors?” He seemed to have already forgotten what Draco had just read to him.

Draco _hated_ potion overdoses. The effects were much more unpredictable than spell damage could ever be. You never knew how the body would react to it, and Potter’s had apparently chosen to ride the waves.

“That’s it, I’m confining you to your bed,” Draco said, pulling Potter off the barstool by his arm. Potter slid right off, landing on his arse and pulling Draco down onto his knees as well.

“Guess _you_ won’t be much help,” Draco grumbled, standing back up. “I will just levitate you, alright?”

Potter just looked up at him in confusion. Draco wasn’t sure if he was even aware of what was going on anymore. Draco took out his wand and Potter’s eyes were fixed on it instantly.

“ _Mobilicorpus!_ ”

The spell bounced off the protective shield that suddenly flared up around Potter.

“Brilliant,” said Draco, putting his wand away.

How the hell was he supposed to transport Potter upstairs now? He clearly was in no state to simply walk. Draco sighed and squatted down in front of Potter, who was still surrounded by his shimmering force field.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said casually. “Can I lift you up or do you want to stay on the cold, hard floor?”

“Draco?” Potter said, looking at him with round eyes.

“Fine, why not,” Draco agreed, reaching out a hand.

It went right through the shield, a tickling sensation dancing across his skin. He took this as permission to carry on. He lifted Potter up by both arms and then grabbed his legs and threw Potter over his shoulder with much effort. This was met with some vague verbal protest, but Draco supposed that overall, Potter was already disoriented enough that this didn’t add much to it.

Draco carried Potter up the stairs, all the while complaining under his breath. Potter might have been small and lean, but Draco was not exactly muscular and definitely not used to doing heavy lifting without using his wand.

To hell with Potter’s overcautious nature and his high-ceilinged house, which made the staircase longer than it had to be. Every single step felt like the last one Draco could manage and he was severely out of breath when he finally arrived at the top of the stairs. He looked around and saw four doors, none of which indicated what was behind.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Draco asked, wiggling his shoulder to rouse Potter.

“Always knew you wanted to get me into bed,” Potter mumbled uselessly.

Draco sighed and tried the first door, which revealed a sitting room. The fireplace was identical to the one in the dining room, but this room was, all in all, warmer than the one downstairs. The floor was made from dark wood and the abstract paintings had a crimson colour scheme.

Draco briefly debated just leaving Potter on one of the cream-coloured couches but ultimately decided against it. He would probably just roll off it and break his neck on the coffee table, which was made from massive wood. And who would believe Draco that _that_ was not his fault? Fat chance.

Behind the next door was the bathroom, also with one entire wall made of glass. This house was _definitely_ invisible to outsiders, Draco promptly decided.

The third door finally led to the bedroom. Draco immediately dropped Potter onto the bed, which was neatly made (something Draco never got around to do himself). He didn’t fancy pulling the blanket out from under Potter – his arms were aching as it was already – so he just enveloped him in it like a bird closing its wings around itself. Or maybe like a crimson burrito.

Odysseus was still in the kitchen when Draco came back, glaring at him as usual. Draco took the pantry quill and wrote an answer, assuring Matthew Greyson that Potter would be up and about in approximately three weeks and therefore not be able to play against Puddlemere on the sixteenth.

He didn’t dare touch Odysseus, so he just offered the scroll to him and managed to avoid his talons (if barely). The owl clicked its beak twice (which rather felt like a threat to Draco) and then took off. The window closed behind it on its own.

Draco went back upstairs, more attentive this time. It was just now that he noticed the Snitches. Potter had fused delicate golden chains to them and hung them up in neat rows on the wall next to the stairs. There were dozens of them and the sunlight was bouncing off of them, sprinkling the wall and stairs with tiny golden lights. Draco was baffled at having missed this earlier, but then again, he had been rather focused on the next step he would have to heave Potter up.

There was another surprise at the top of the stairs. In front of the huge, wall-filling window stood a small tree inside a glass planter. The leaves were rustling slightly and then, out of nowhere, appeared the head of a boomslang.

Draco took a startled step backwards and almost tipped over the edge of the stairs, managing to grab the banister at the last second. Emerald flicked her tongue and hissed at him, somehow managing to not make it seem as menacing as it could be. He persuaded himself that her posture was relaxed, and gave her a weak smile – which was really all he could muster at the moment, with his heart still racing madly.

“Hello Emerald,” he said soothingly, while carefully edging past the tree and into the hallway. She flicked out her tongue as if to say that this was fine with her.

Draco re-entered the bedroom, which was empty apart from the bed and two glass-topped bedside tables on either side of it. The bed was _huge_ , which made Potter look all the smaller. He had curled up into a ball and thrown off the blanket in the process, which was probably why he was shivering.

Draco sighed and bent over Potter, nudging his shoulder tentatively. He needed to wake him up to be able to pull the blanket out from under him, but he was also not keen on startling Potter too much and being attacked.

He needn’t have worried about that. Potter squinted at him sleepily and then grabbed him and pulled Draco into bed next to him, hooking both arms and legs around his body like he was the giant squid. Draco tried to get away, but this only made Potter latch onto him even more.

“Potter, would you _please_ let go of me so I can get you a blanket?” Draco said, doing his best to ignore the feeling of Potter pressed against him.

“Don’t wanna,” came the faint answer.

“You _will_ want to when the potion wanes off again.”

“Nah,” Potter just said, followed by a few seconds silence. “You’re so warm.”

“You know what _else_ is warm?” Draco said. “Your _blanket_. Feels like a down duvet.”

“Mhhm …,” made Potter and then his eyes closed completely and he was silent.

Draco surrendered to his fate (already resigning himself to a rather rude awakening) and folded the ends of the blanket around the two of them. Potter, who really was rather cold, seemed to mould himself to Draco and it didn’t take long for the latter to fall asleep as well.

~o~

The sun had set when Draco woke up again, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. The room was illuminated by a small golden orb on one of the bedside tables.

Their arms were wrapped around each other, their legs entangled intricately. Draco’s head was resting atop Potter’s, soft hair tickling his chin and neck.

Draco did not dare to move, fearing he would wake Potter and shatter the moment. He wanted to stay like this forever, feeling warm and secure and _loved_. He could almost deceive himself into believing this were a typical Saturday, the both of them hiding away from the rest of the world in Potter’s safe haven, where nobody could get to them.

Draco was just getting started on imagining what a late Sunday breakfast prepared by Potter would look like when Potter began stroking his back lightly. This meant two things. One: Potter was clearly not sleeping anymore. Two: Potter was _definitely_ still very much Confunded.

Draco was on the fence. How very wrong was it to just exploit the state Potter was in and pretend to still be sleeping? He was pretty sure that Potter would not want to cuddle with him if he were of sound mind, but nobody was making him do it now either, right?

But then again, was this not the same as preying on someone who had been given love potion? They might think that they wanted it while the potion was still at work, but afterwards they would feel all the more abused. Draco’s stomach dropped significantly. Was he _abusing_ Potter? Would Potter resent him for it when he was back to normal?

Draco was just pulling himself together to end this, when suddenly, there was a hiss and then the faint sound of Emerald slithering across the floor. Potter answered, almost imperceptibly. Draco had the unpleasant feeling they were talking about him. Would she know that Potter was not himself at the moment? Would she realise that Draco was using this to his advantage? Would she _attack_ him to protect Potter?

There was a faint thudding noise and then suddenly, he felt her cool, smooth scales against his bare arm, which was still wrapped around Potter. Draco flinched massively and made a very unmanly noise which he would have described as a whimper, had it not come from him.

If Emerald was planning on defending Potter, his best course of action would be to let go of him immediately, but Draco found this impossible to do. Instead, his arms and legs tightened considerably around Potter.

“There is a deadly snake in your bed, _do_ something!” he hissed, slightly panicky.

“She just wants to cuddle,” Potter said, entirely too calm.

“Potter, you might not be aware, because you are basically a confused baby owl at the moment, but you cannot cuddle with a _snake_!”

“I’m not confused,” Potter protested. “And owls shouldn’t cuddle with snakes. Too dangerous.”

The snake was past Draco now and coiling around a pillow next to Potter’s head. Draco let go of him and got up hastily. Potter did not prevent him from escaping, though he did look somewhat disappointed to lose his primary source of warmth.

“Not confused my arse. What day is it?” Draco asked, pretty sure that Potter had no idea.

“New Year’s Day. Do you think I am stupid?” Potter raised an eyebrow.

Okay, fine, maybe he was slowly returning to his senses. “Alright. What was the last match you played?”

“The _S.U.M.O._ charity match before Christmas. Gudgeon of the Cannons played Keeper on my team and the opposing Seeker was Georgina Thompson.”

“And _S.U.M.O._ stands for ...,” Draco prompted.

“Oh, come on, _nobody_ knows what all those acronyms stand for!” Potter protested, sitting up in bed. Emerald bumped her head against his arm affectionately. “I know it’s got something to do with orphans.”

“It’s the _‘Society for Underprivileged Magical Orphans’_ ,” Draco said pointedly. “You are to stay in bed for at least another day.”

“I more or less said that! I’m not Confunded anymore, alright?”

Potter swung his legs out of bed energetically without falling over, which he took as an overall good sign. Draco took a hasty step forward and prevented Potter from standing up by placing both hands on his shoulders. There still was the thing about Potter _cuddling_ with him. That was _definitely_ not normal behaviour and therefore reason to worry. But then again, Potter did seem to have detailed memories.

“Tell you what. You can get up _if_ you can tell me when your birthday is,” Draco offered.

“Easy! June 5th; let’s go,” Potter said, pushing both of Draco’s hands away and standing up. They were now very close, Potter looking up at him excitedly with bright green eyes and Draco staring back confusedly.

“That’s not your birthday,” Draco said, pushing him back down and ignoring that his heart seemed to have abandoned sinus rhythm just a second ago. “That’s _mine_.”

“No, it’s not,” said Potter stubbornly.

“Yes, it _is_.”

“I think I know my own birthday,” Potter argued, trying to get back up again, but Draco didn’t let him.

“It seems that you _don’t_ ,” Draco said.

He put a hand in his pocket and took out a tiny, shrunk-down bag, containing everything Potter had had on him the previous night. Draco un-shrunk it with a flick of his wand, which he had stowed in his sleeve. He handed Potter the chart that lay on top of it.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“That’s your patient chart,” Draco said, pointing at the top of it. “And _that’s_ your birthday, July 31st.”

Potter just frowned down at it. Draco could practically see his brain working behind that massively distracting scar.

“What’s the matter?” Draco asked innocently.

Potter just shrugged nonchalantly and began flipping through the many, many pages of his chart. “You know more about me than I do,” he finally said.

“Just admit you can’t read a _word_ of it,” Draco said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Because I’m not wearing my glasses! You can’t hold that against me.”

“I bloody well can, because you had this Muggle thing done, what’s the name –” Draco snatched the chart from Potter and leaved through it. “ _Laser surgery_?”

“Oh right, I forgot about that,” Potter said, ruffling his hair.

“I rest my case,” said Draco. “Just stay in bed until tomorrow and I’ll bring you anything you need.”

Potter laid back in bed reluctantly, pulling the blanket over himself and also Emerald. He stared at the ceiling silently while Draco stood next to the bed like an idiot.

“So … _do_ you need anything?” Draco asked.

Potter seemed to take stock of himself for a few seconds. “I need to pee.”

Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes for emphasis. “Why didn’t you say so a minute ago?”

“I didn’t know it then.”

“Fine. Bathroom, then back to bed for at least another twelve hours.”

“You are _really_ bossy,” Potter said, getting up and walking to the bathroom under Draco’s watchful eyes.

“Me being here was _your_ idea,” Draco said. “You were very determined.”

That was when Potter closed the bathroom door in his face, though Draco was pretty sure he heard him say “I _like_ bossy Draco.”

 _Why_ had he agreed to come here again? The first day wasn’t even over and Draco was ready to throw in the towel. Injured and grumpy Potter he could handle, but quasi-drunk and _affectionate_ Potter? That was a whole other story.

Draco was just a man, after all. An overworked, attention-starved, lonely man, who wanted nothing more than to give in to Potter, who seemed to crave some physical contact as well. At the moment, at least.

That man would be the death of him.


	23. Close Enough [Sunday, January 2nd 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the next two chapters are short ones, so I’ll post both of them today. 😊  
> Big thanks to Amanda, illindalenti, Fandomwarriorqueen, serilla, AlluraBelle, Fan and That-BoringOne for commenting!  
> I also really, really appreciate you taking the time to comment on previous chapters you didn’t get the chance to read before! Thank you all!

Potter’s sitting room suite was made from dark, solid wood and cream-coloured leather, and it looked like it must have cost a fortune. This was the reason why Draco had not dared transform one of the sofas into a bed, which was in turn the reason why Draco fell onto the floor when a heavy _THUD_ woke him early on Sunday morning.

He grabbed his wand from the coffee table and hurried into the hallway, where Potter was just getting to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

“What did you do?” Draco asked, his heart still racing from this abrupt start to his day.

“Fell on the way to the bathroom,” Potter muttered, thoroughly dusting off his joggers (even though the floor looked like it had not seen any dust _ever_ ) and not meeting his eyes. He looked like he had barely slept at all. Maybe that had something to do with having slept the entire day away yesterday.

Draco was just getting ready to scold Potter for not calling for help, when a movement on the ceiling caught his eyes. He closed his mouth and looked up at a very large silver sigil, made up of two intertwining serpents. 

“What in Merlin’s name is _that_?”

“How would I know?” said Potter dismissively.

“You _live_ here.”

Potter neither looked at the snakes nor at Draco. “It was already there when I bought it. It didn’t come with instructions.”

“Did that thing move just now?” Draco demanded.

Now Potter looked up too, ruffling his hair at the same time. “No. Trick of the light.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at him. He knew by now that something was up when Potter messed up his hair. Was it because he had something to hide? Or maybe it had nothing to do with that at all, but rather with his cuddle ambush the day before? Draco reckoned that Potter would be pretty embarrassed about that. One thing was clear, at least: Potter did not want to talk about what was bothering him.

“If you are done interrogating me now …,” Potter said, squeezing past him and disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of running water told him that Potter was taking a shower. Draco spent another two minutes staring up at the ceiling but the serpents didn’t show the slightest inclination to move.

~o~

They spent the day in front of the sitting room fireplace. Potter was stroking Emeralds head while poring over what seemed to be instructions on a new set of Seeker’s moves, which Coach Greyson had sent around noon. Somebody must have told him that Potter couldn’t read, because the instructions consisted entirely of little moving diagrams.

Draco (who could still feel where Odysseus had bitten him when he had taken the parchments from him) had caught one glimpse of a little stick-figure Seeker jumping from his broom to catch the Snitch, and decided he did not want to see the rest.

Instead, he had immersed himself in a collection of his own handwritten notes on the healing of scars. But the longer he stared at them, the more the idea of flinging himself off a broom appealed to him. There had not been any progress in his research in the last two weeks. He seemed to have reached a deadlock and the only way out seemed to be through human experiments.

“What’s eating you?” Potter had put his diagrams down and was watching him from his place in front of the fire.

Draco honestly didn’t know how Potter could stand being so close to the flames. He himself had only hesitated a minute before taking off his sweater. Draco was now sitting there in his short-sleeved t-shirt, careful not to bare his left arm to Potter, while that maniac was still wrapped in a blanket.

“I’m short a guinea pig,” Draco sighed, rubbing at his burning eyes.

“Can’t you just buy one?” Potter raised an eyebrow at him. “Want me to put it on the list?”

“The list?” Draco asked distractedly, trying to bring his notes in order again.

“My shopping list for Sam. She usually comes by every Wednesday, but if it’s urgent I could tell her to do it tomorrow instead.”

“It’s not an _actual_ guinea pig I need,” Draco objected. “I need a test person. I don’t think Samantha Huxley will be able to help me with that.”

“What are you working on?” Potter asked. He wrapped his blanket a little tighter around himself and came over, plonking himself down next to Draco and then leaning against him to look over his shoulder at the photograph of a particularly gruesome Expulso scar.

“ _Shit_ ,” Potter commented tonelessly. Draco turned to look at him, but Potter’s eyes were fixed on the picture. “How old is he?”

“He _was_ eighteen when he died of late complications,” Draco said glumly. “A scar that large can harbour a tremendous amount of dark magic.”

Potter nodded, still staring at the scar. Draco turned it over and some tension seemed to leave Potter’s body. He looked up at Draco at last, his eyes considerably wider than usual.

“What do you need a guinea pig for?” he asked interestedly. “Are you going to try and heal scars like that?”

“I think I found an approach that could work on curse scars,” Draco said, shuffling his notes for something to do. Potter really was sitting awfully close. “But nobody will want to volunteer for that. I’ll have to cut into their flesh for it to be effective.”

“Sounds less than ideal,” Potter grimaced. He tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, as if lost in thought.

“So, are you going to do that kamikaze jump?” Draco asked, gesturing over at the diagrams, which Potter had put onto the coffee table, neatly stacked.

“Depends. How low would I have to fly for it to _not_ be life-threatening?”

“A foot off the ground could kill you if you managed to hit the ground in a less than favourable manner.”

“So … your advice would be to not do that?”

“Preferably,” Draco said. “I would rather not be the one to break the news to your family. I have a feeling I’ll see _a lot_ of Ginny in the future. That could get awkward and I wouldn’t want to do that to Blaise.”

“Knew you cared,” Potter chuckled next to him, elbowing him in the ribs a little rougher than necessary. Draco decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and blame that on the Confounding Concoction. He was feeling charitable.

Draco put his notes away and leaned back as well. The room was getting darker by the minute and he wasn’t making any progress anyway. He closed his burning eyes, tired from hours of reading. The crackling of the fire had a rather lulling effect on him and Potter showed no inclination to get up again. Their arms were constantly touching, and he did not seem to mind.

When Draco opened his eyes again, it was close to midnight. Potter’s head was resting on his shoulder and he seemed to have covered Draco with half of his blanket. Or maybe Draco had stolen some of it during the night, though he somehow doubted that, as the fire was still burning. Draco had a feeling that it was charmed to never go out. Potter’s house sure was a lot warmer than any other Draco had been to. He resisted the urge to find a more comfortable position and went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you tonight!


	24. Remember How You Made Me Crazy? [Monday, January 3rd 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for commenting Santa_Pacifica and Fan!  
> It definitely wasn’t half past three in the morning here when I posted the last one 😉
> 
> Title: Don Henley - Boys of Summer

Potter was gone when Draco woke up the next morning with a horrible crick in his neck. The shower was running, so he went downstairs and made porridge.

Potter joined him a few minutes later, dropping down on the barstool and smelling exactly like Draco did since the first time he had showered here – like soap and peppermint-scented shampoo.

Draco could handle this. Who cared that they smelled like they belonged together? Not Draco. Draco was _fully_ concentrating on the way Potter had managed to hit the barstool on his first try.

Draco really had to give it to him – he was adjusting to his condition with impressive speed. So far, he’d only walked into doorframes three or four times and just once had he smacked himself in the face in an attempt at messing up his hair. Maybe that would teach him to leave it alone.

“Porridge again? Don’t strain yourself, Malfoy,” Potter said, looking into his bowl unenthusiastically.

“Want me to take you back to St. Mungo’s?” Draco offered, smiling at him sweetly. “Mondays it’s mashed potatoes.”

“Every day at Mungo’s is mashed potato day,” Harry muttered. “You’ll have to go one better.”

“Well, you could ask Sanders to do some physical exercises with you after breakfast. You still owe her some. Be sure to bring something to throw at her face, though, or she won’t recognise you.”

“Did I really ask you to live with me for a whole week?” Potter grumbled, picking at his porridge. “Doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

“Oh yes, you could hardly wait,” Draco confirmed, starting on his own bowl. “You even turned down several invitations in favour of this. You must _really_ enjoy my company.”

“Must have been the potion speaking,” Potter said. Then he added, more enthusiastically, “Hey, how about _pancakes_?”

“Sure, just don’t expect _me_ to make them.”

“Anybody can make pancakes!”

“Well, not me. I hate cooking. It takes forever and then, when you’re just about to go into a food coma, you have to do all the cleaning. Just not worth it.”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Potter said, pushing his bowl away. “Where’s my wand?”

Draco laughed in his face. “There’s no way I’ll give that back to you already.”

Potter jumped to his feet at once. “Malfoy, come on. I’m completely fine!”

“You are fine when Patil says you’re fine,” Draco objected. “And that means no magic for a whole week.”

Potter strode around the kitchen island determinedly. Draco put down his bowl, half-expecting Potter to attack him, but he just stopped right next to him.

“See? Fit as a fiddle. No disorientation at all,” he declared, jumping on the spot for emphasis.

“Good for you,” Draco said, glancing at him sideways. “Still a no.”

“ _Why_?”

He grabbed Draco’s arm and turned his barstool around to face him, using so much force that Draco was almost thrown off. He had to grab both of Potter’s arms to stabilise.

“ _Because_ some of the potion might still be lingering in your bloodstream. Which is why you still can’t read, by the way, so maybe you should not question this fact.”

“How about fifty galleons?” Potter offered suddenly, looking up at him slyly.

And why was he standing so close? Draco could practically feel Potter’s breath ebbing against his throat. Not helpful.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

Potter’s legs were pressed against Draco’s knees, which, frankly, was very distracting. Almost as distracting as Potter biting his lower lip, looking up at him with his stupidly vivid green eyes.

“Is it working?” Potter asked softly, putting his second hand on Draco’s other shoulder.

And was he coming nearer? Was he doing this on _purpose_? That bastard knew he was Draco’s type and now he was exploiting it shamelessly. ‘ _Confounded_ ,’ supplied a little voice at the back of Draco’s head. Right.

“I swore an oath, Potter. I’m not going to break that for some gold,” Draco replied, swallowing hard. He found it very difficult to stop his eyes from drifting down to Potter’s lips.

“Anything else you _would_ break it for?”

One of Potter’s hands twitched and Draco had the sudden suspicion that he was restraining himself from ruffling his hair. Instead, both hands slid from Draco’s shoulders and down the length of his arms, leaving them ice-cold and burning at the same time, before they came to rest around Draco’s wrists.

And then it dawned on Draco.

That bastard was the most _Slytherin_ Gryffindor he had ever laid eyes on! Merlin, that thought should _not_ turn him on even more than he already was. _Pull it together, Draco!_

“I don’t have your wand on me, you tosser,” he said coldly, withdrawing his hands and shoving Potter away with a push against his chest. “So you can stop _patting me down_.”

Potter _did_ ruffle his hair now. He was just about to say something when the window flew open and, not a second later, a newspaper narrowly missed Draco’s head, crash-landing on the kitchen island. Potter immediately lifted it up, unearthing his ridiculously tiny owl.

“How many times do I have to tell them _not_ to send you with the heavy things?” Potter said angrily, stroking the miniature owl so all its feathers were smooth again. Pig hooted softly and took some of the porridge Draco offered.

“Of all the owls to choose from, why did you have to take the tiniest one available?” Draco asked curiously.

“Well, unlike _some_ people,” Potter shot him a sidelong glance, “I don’t have anything to compensate.”

“I don’t even _have_ an owl,” said Draco, but Harry just ignored him.

He was looking down at the Daily Prophet he was still holding and his features hardened.

The whole front page consisted of various photographs of Potter, mostly taken during Quidditch games and all of them showing him getting injured. The largest one was a loop of Dayal and Draco Disapparating with Potter. Draco took the newspaper from him and dropped it into the rubbish bin unceremoniously.

“Just stop reading that trash,” he advised, sitting back down on his barstool. “You can’t make them stop writing about you, but you can pretend they have.”

“Everybody reads that!” Potter protested. “ _They_ don’t pretend those articles don’t exist!”

“Fuck everybody,” Draco said. “You don’t have to care about everybody. The people that really matter won’t take these things seriously anyway and the rest can piss right off.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Potter grumbled, stroking Pig’s feathers.

“Don’t I?” Draco asked in disbelief. “You are such a self-absorbed prick, Potter. What do you think the Prophet did when the Wizengamot acquitted me? Completely ignore it? Sing my praise? Think they _congratulated_ me when Meadows agreed to take me on?”

“They wrote about you working at St. Mungo’s?”

“Oh, they were sure that I _Imperiused_ Meadows. My evil plan was to infiltrate St. Mungo’s and poison Muggle-borns.”

Potter looked at him dumbfounded, still stroking Pig absentmindedly. “I’m –” he began, but Draco interrupted him, holding up a hand.

“I don’t need your pity. I worked my arse off to get to where I am now and I won’t let _anybody_ ruin that. Especially not some bloodthirsty reporter with a vendetta. And neither should you.”

Potter looked at him thoughtfully, biting his lip again. Something like resolution showed on his face and then he pushed away from the kitchen island and went into the pantry, only slightly bumping his shoulder against the door. He reappeared with various ingredients, which he arranged in a neat row on the kitchen island.

“I’ll show you how to make pancakes,” he said, taking out two large metal bowls and two whisks.

Potter refused to divide the tasks between the two of them, insisting that they make two batters, so Draco could ‘ _memorise every single step’._ Potter did everything the Muggle way and then told Draco which spell to use.

When they had produced two almost identical mixtures (Potter’s somehow fluffier than his), Potter put two pans on the stove, which Draco turned on with his wand.

“Alright, now pour some of the batter into the pan, like this,” Potter instructed, demonstrating on his own pan. Draco imitated him, earning an approving nod from Potter.

Things took a turn when the time came to flip their pancakes. Potter managed to do it without the spatula, tossing his pancake into the air with a flick of his wrist and catching it again. Draco pointed his wand at his own pan, trying to imitate the move Potter had done. The pan jerked violently and his pancake hit the ceiling and then landed on the steel counter with a splash.

“You know, rumour has it you can’t cook,” Potter said bluntly.

“That so?” asked Draco, vanishing his culinary mishap. Some of the batter was still dripping from the ceiling and he vanished that too.

“Uh-uh,” said Potter, the corner of his mouth twitching.

And then they were laughing. The sound of both their voices was filling the room and Draco was hit with the realisation that this was the first time they were both laughing about the same thing. Until now they had usually laughed at the expense of one another. He decided, then and there, that he really liked how their laughter blended together.

Potter poured some more batter into Draco’s pan and then got behind him. Draco tensed up as Potter put his right hand on Draco’s from behind, back and chest pressed against each other.

“It’s a rather delicate motion,” Potter said quietly.

And Draco was sure that Potter must be able to feel his hand shaking, or the blood pounding through his whole body with every heartbeat. He could hardly concentrate on the wand movement Potter was guiding him through. And he most certainly was _not_ focussing on his pancake.

Merlin, Draco was completely out of his depth with Potter ever since he had realised he felt something for him. It felt like being tossed into the raging sea, never sure when the next wave would hit and from which side. All he could do was stay afloat _somehow_.

“This isn’t a ploy to steal my wand, is it, Potter?” Draco said quietly, desperate for anything to say, struggling to keep his head above water.

He did not really think that was what was going on, but now that he had said it, he caught himself wondering who would win in a scuffle. Somehow, he doubted it would be him. Draco was taller, sure, but Potter was definitely in better shape. He did nothing but train every day and probably ate a lot of vegetables. Draco only ever worked way too many hours, but never _out_ , and then ate complete garbage without a single vitamin to be found anywhere near it.

“Do you think me capable of something like that?” Potter said in his ear. “Just taking something from you as important as your wand?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Draco said, only half-accusingly. He knew Potter did not have a choice back then. He didn’t want to think about what would have been if Draco had held on to it a little bit tighter.

“All is fair in love and war,” Potter said silently, tightening his grip on Draco’s hand, as if to make sure he could not just pull it away.

“The war is over,” Draco said hoarsely, his heart hammering against his rib cage. He felt Potter seize up behind him, and then he let go.

“‘Course it is,” Potter said in a husky voice, stepping away from him. “Let’s finish up, I’m starving.”

But when they were finally finished with their pancakes, Potter barely ate any, cutting them into increasingly smaller pieces instead.


	25. Hit Me With Your Best Shot [Tuesday, January 4th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, ladies and gentlemen and others. Don’t ask me what happened, but there has been a massive increase in subscriptions. So thanks for that!  
> Also a massive thanks to everybody who commented (WildvanillaRose, ZanyNY, Amanda, Superfan1224, Santa_Pacifica, Fan, serilla, AlluraBelle, illindalenti, eliikequ and ThatBoringOne). You guys are the best!  
> I promise it’s not going to take another 50 chapters for our boys to talk it out 😉

The room was pitch black and cold. Draco was lying on his back fully clothed, not daring to move. His whole body was aching and even just breathing too deeply set his whole body aflame.

The Dark Lord had not been pleased with them at all. Potter had been delivered directly into their home, completely unexpected. And he had not only managed to escape, but also taken the prisoners with him. Never before had Draco seen _Him_ so furious.

He wished he still had his wand to ease some of the pain, to knock himself out, to _kill_ himself with, maybe. Mother would be devastated, but then again, he could not see a way out of this mess that would end any better than that.

If He managed to kill Potter, if He managed to win the war, He would be free to do whatever He wanted with them. Not that He wasn’t already. If, by some miracle, the other side won – well, the Malfoys had not exactly covered themselves in glory.

Draco thought he’d rather die than spend the rest of his life in Azkaban with a bunch of Death Eaters who would probably blame his family for thwarting Potter’s death today.

He could hear them stalking by his room, keeping watch. As if he could have fled if he wanted to. The thought alone of moving his legs was enough to send a fresh wave of pain throbbing through his body. He wished he could just fall asleep and not feel for a while. He wished he did not have to hear the pained groans that came from the room across the hall, the one they had thrown Father into. He wished Nagini would stop slithering through the halls, making his hair stand on end every time he could hear her hiss or slide over the marble floor.

Father was screaming now, begging them to _stop, please, stop hurting her_ , calling out for her. And Draco wished he could just _wake up_ from this nightmare.

And then he _did_.

“ _Hermione!_ ”

Draco was sitting bolt-upright, flinging the blanket away and grabbing his wand. He could hear Potter trashing in his bed despite the bathroom between them.

When Draco pushed the door open, Potter was completely tangled in his sheets, his eyes screwed up and a terrified expression on his face. Both pillows were lying on the floor and Draco suspected the only reason Potter was not down there with them was because his bed was so large he could lie in it sideways.

Draco’s first instinct was to shake Potter until he woke up, but that would certainly result in a broken nose at the very least. So he held himself back and instead cast a Calming Charm over Potter. His whole body relaxed visibly and only a strained frown remained on his face.

Draco pointed his wand at the glowing, golden globe on the bedside table and it grew steadily brighter until the whole room was ablaze with light. Potter’s eyelids twitched, but remained shut, and his breathing became very even all of a sudden. Draco stepped into the room and a muscle in Potter’s arm tensed. He was waiting for his chance to strike, Draco realised suddenly.

“Potter, _don’t!_ ” Draco yelled, but too late – Potter had already thrown one arm up, his open palm facing Draco.

He just managed to cast a desperate _Protego_ , and then the scarlet shock wave was crashing into him, completely obliterating his shield and ejecting him from the room. Draco collided with the punchbag hanging in front of the hallway window opposite Potter’s room and then landed on the floor face down. He heard his wand clatter across the floor.

He had to get up before Potter got a chance to attack again, but his body was glued to the floor, like something heavy was pinning him down.

For the first time in a very long time, Draco was terrified of Harry Potter – who was so overflowing with magic and power that he could pulverize a grown wizard half-asleep and wandlessly. Who had overthrown the Dark Lord. Who had survived the fucking _Killing Curse_ not once, but twice.

“Malfoy!” Potter called out, voice breaking. And then he was dropping to the floor beside him. The weight lifted and Potter turned him around with trembling hands. “Shit, Draco! Are you alright?”

Draco groaned, looking up at Potter, who was illuminated from behind by the light emitting from his bedroom. It created a halo around his body while his face was in the dark. Which was a shame, because Draco really would have liked to see the guilt in his eyes.

He stretched out a hand to tilt Potter’s face to the side, but the stupid git grabbed it and squeezed it tightly, as if that would help. Which, strangely, it seemed to do, but that was completely beside the point.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Potter whispered. His hand was trembling considerably. “What can I do?”

“Stop crushing my hand,” Draco wheezed. It was getting more and more difficult to breathe and his whole chest hurt. “I need my wand.”

“Yes. _Wand_ ,” Potter stammered, holding out a hand.

Draco’s wand rolled across the floor towards them and then bounced into his hand. He thrust it into Draco’s right.

The diagnostic spells revealed the obvious.

“Thoracic contusion,” he whispered, lying back flat on the floor. “If anybody asks, tell them I put up a fight, will you?”

“Can you heal it?” Potter asked anxiously, ignoring Draco’s attempt at gallows humour. He put a hand on Draco’s arm and began stroking it lightly, just as he had done when Emerald had been hurt. Had that really been less than a month ago?

“Not myself,” Draco said laboriously. “It’s hard using your magic to the fullest when you’re hurt. If you’re not careful you can end up making it much worse. Just Floo me to Mungo’s.”

“You don’t look like you can Floo,” Potter said doubtfully. “Why don’t I just –”

“ _No!_ ” Draco said, sitting up jumpily and then instantly doubling over in pain.

His thorax was burning, like someone was sliding white-hot blades between his ribs. Potter grabbed his biceps determinedly and before Draco could catch his breath to object a second time, there was the familiar twist and the air tightened around him, pressing down on his chest.

Draco was screaming when they appeared at St. Mungo’s. Tears were streaming down his face, blurring his vision, and Potter’s hand was still around his arm. Draco grabbed it in his own and squeezed it as hard as he could, hoping to break at least a finger or two.

“No means _no_ , Potter!” he yelled, glaring up at the stupid prat.

His lungs were protesting vehemently at being abused like that, but Draco felt it helped with the pain, if just mentally.

“I know you’ve got a _hero complex_ as big as that stupid scar, but you need to listen when the professionals tell you not to do something as whacky as Apparating a wounded person while under the influence of Confounding Concoction!”

Hurried footsteps disrupted Potter’s answer (which would have been quite insufficient, Draco was sure) and then Draco was lifted onto a stretcher. Dayal’s face appeared above him, looking very confused. Due to the fact that he was with Potter or that their roles were reversed for once, Draco could not say. Being the Falcons’ Team Healer, Dayal was probably not used to seeing Potter out and about while at Mungo’s.

“Work accident,” Draco croaked. “Fell down a whole flight of stairs while on a special assignment. I already diagnosed a thoracic contusion. Should be no big deal.”

Dayal did his own spells (Draco rolled his eyes, even though he always did the same) and then confirmed his diagnosis. He healed Draco’s injury with three quick spells and then left him to catch his breath, disappearing into an adjoining room with Potter.

When they came back, Potter looked oddly pleased and did not object to taking the Floo home.

They ended up sitting at the kitchen island, two identical mugs in front of them. Painted on the side was a falcon, which opened its wings and took flight if you touched it. Draco did this once and promptly burned his fingertip. He charmed his spoon to stir his hot tea while Potter held his mug firmly in both hands.

“Sorry for that,” Potter finally said, staring into his tea. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Forgot you were here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Draco answered, waving his hand dismissively.

Potter turned to look at him, a frown on his face. “Why didn’t _you_ mention it? Earlier I mean, to Dayal.”

Draco shrugged and touched his mug to see if the temperature was tolerable yet. “Didn’t think it quite necessary to immortalise _that_ in your chart,” he said, taking a small sip and burning his tongue.

“But what if there’s some other damage they wouldn’t check for if you just fell down the stairs?”

“You won’t do lasting damage by blasting me with an Expelliarmus,” Draco said disparagingly. “It’s not a curse, even if it was obnoxiously strong. Talk about casting _Reducto_ to crack a nut.”

Potter let go of his mug to turn around on his barstool and face Draco with a strained expression. “That was an Expelliarmus?”

“Why so surprised?” Draco taunted. “Isn’t that the only spell you know?”

“Yeah,” Potter said slowly, much to Draco’s surprise.

He had expected a snide remark aimed at Draco’s own magical shortcomings and Draco had been eager to know what those were, according to Potter.

“I’m really sorry. I should have warned you that could happen,” Potter continued, holding his gaze.

“Please, don’t insult me,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I know perfectly well that’s part of the reason you don’t like to stay at Mungo’s. Your nightmares are not exactly a well-kept secret.”

Potter turned away from him then, taking up his steaming mug again and gulping half of it down in one go. Draco thought his whole oesophagus must have gotten boiled from the inside, but Potter didn’t even flinch.

“So, how did you keep that from happening to your girlfriend?” Draco asked casually.

Potter squared his shoulders and gripped his mug tight, white-knuckled. “I never stayed overnight. Too dangerous. You heard Lauren and Olivia ... I was really lucky they only got pushed out of bed that one time.”

“Couldn’t you have put a _Protego_ around her before going to sleep?” Draco suggested. He found it hard to believe that Potter had never thought of that.

“Not without _telling_ her,” Potter said, emptying his tea and then prodding the falcon on his mug repeatedly.

Draco blew on his own tea, watching Harry’s falcon do a looping. “Telling her what?”

“About magic, what else? I doubt she would have missed a fucking glowing bubble surrounding her.”

“She didn’t _know_?” Draco asked in disbelief. “How could you keep _that_ a secret?”

“Wasn’t that hard. I just pretended I were normal.” Draco could hear the pain underneath his sullen voice.

“ _Normal_?” Draco echoed. He had never met anyone _less_ normal than Potter. “And she believed that?”

“Well, up until the bloody Prophet knocked on the window of her attic bedroom at three in the morning. To talk about me.”

“And she –”

“Called me, completely hysterical.”

“And you –”

“Apparated there and hexed him, of course. He fell off his broom and broke three ribs.”

“And then ...?”

“She called the police on both of us.”

“Muggle _Law Enforcement_?”

“That’s the one,” Potter confirmed, looking grim. At least in profile, which was the only view Draco had of him, because Potter was still staring at his mug, harassing the falcon.

“What did you do?”

“Sent a Patronus to Ron. He called up some colleagues from the DMLE. They had to Obliviate the whole street and also two police officers.”

“And how did she take it?” Draco asked carefully. “The whole magic thing?”

“We decided it would be best to Obliviate her too,” Potter said flatly.

Seeing him like this – emotionless, resigned – felt like a cold hand closing around Draco’s heart. He had seen what Potter had done to the editor in chief back then, fuelled by his boundless rage, but now there seemed to be only emptiness.

“And you broke up after that?”

“Didn’t have to,” Potter said, staring out of the window into the starry night. “I erased myself from her memory and sent her back to Australia.”

“ _Why?_ ” Draco asked, grabbing Potter’s lower arm. He tensed but did not pull away or throw him off.

“It was bound to happen again and she was clearly not equipped to handle it. At least now I know not to date Muggles anymore.”

“Maybe she would have reacted differently, had the situation presented itself more favourably?” Draco suggested, squeezing Potter’s arm lightly.

He did not know why he said it. He didn’t want Potter to get back with his ex or try dating other Muggles, for fuck’s sake. He just couldn’t stand seeing him like that. Potter was supposed to be happy or irritated or, at the very worst, angry but not _sad_.

Potter shook his head, still staring out the window. “You didn’t hear her that night. It was ... bad.”

Draco didn’t have any more encouraging words, so he just leaned over and hugged Potter around the shoulders. Potter didn’t react for a few seconds and then patted his hand tentatively, maybe because Draco was restricting his arms and this was the only movement Potter could manage.

“This is really awkward,” Potter said quietly and Draco had to agree. They were both still sitting on their barstools in their pyjamas, upper bodies twisted at an odd angle.

“Yeah, well, then maybe next time find yourself a Hufflepuff if you want to cry your heart out,” Draco said mockingly, letting go of him and getting to his feet.

Potter jabbed him in the side twice in quick succession, but Draco could see the corner of his mouth twitch. “Sod off, you _insufferable_ git.”

“Sissy,” Draco retorted, massaging his ribs. He sent their mugs into the sink and left the kitchen.

One foot already on the first step, Draco turned around to see if Potter would be able to handle the stairs alone, and found him missing. Frowning, he turned around and went back into the kitchen. Potter was doing the dishes. By hand, for a lack of options.

“Really?” said Draco with more than just some disbelief in his voice. “Quarter to midnight and you’re washing up?”

Potter didn’t even look in his direction, but Draco could see in the set of his shoulders that he had tensed up when Draco had spoken. “You go ahead, I’ll just be a minute.”

“I can do it tomorrow,” Draco offered.

Potter shrugged, pulled a kitchen towel from one of his cupboards and started drying up their mugs. “I’ve got it.”

“Why didn’t you just leave it until tomorrow?”

Still not a glance in Draco’s direction as Potter put everything back into its place. “Now it’s out of the way.”

Draco just sighed and waited for him to finish up. He could’ve thought about a thing or two to say about the whole thing, but his chest was starting to throb in a dull pattern, and if he was being honest … he just wanted to go to bed. Not everything had to be made into an argument, right?

They went upstairs in companionable silence and then stopped dead at the top of the stairs.

The hallway was filled with down feathers, hanging in the air motionlessly, frozen in time. They were illuminated by the golden light emitting from Potter’s bedroom and the flicker of the sitting room fireplace. It felt like stepping inside a snow globe. Draco nudged one of the feathers and it drifted away from him in slow-motion.

“Guess that was your bedding,” Draco said drily, holding out his wand. “ _Finite Incantatem_.”

His spell passed through the room like a knife through butter and hit a single feather, which sailed to the floor slowly. The rest of them stayed put. Potter snorted at his failure.

“Your house, your magic, _your problem_ ,” he told Potter, putting his wand back inside the sleeve of his pyjama-top.

Potter put out a hand, as if to feel for his magic. His brows furrowed as he whispered under his breath – nothing happened. His frown increased. “I can’t feel it.”

“You’ve probably overexerted yourself,” Draco said. “Wandless magic takes way more strength than is necessary. And then you Apparated both of us to St. Mungo’s like some _mindless buffoon_. Can’t be that much left.”

Potter at least had the good grace to look slightly ashamed. “I already apologised, didn’t I?”

Draco gave him a small smile. He was too tired to argue any more. “We’ll deal with it in the morning. Just go to bed and I’ll give you some sleeping potion. You look dead on your feet.”

“Look who’s talking,” Potter muttered, but he still went into his bedroom obediently, where even more feathers hung frozen in the air.

Draco conjured new pillows and a blanket and then summoned a vial of Dreamless Sleep from his bag. He handed it over to Potter, who sat leaning against the headboard.

“Could you stay with me?” he blurted out and then closed his eyes, as if wishing to take it right back. “I mean – just as a precaution. In case the potion wears off ... God, just _forget_ I said anything.”

Draco sat down on the empty half of Potter’s bed so they could speak eye to eye. He thought back to all those times Potter had woken up _way_ too early after taking the potion and asked, “How long does it usually last?”

“Five hours, give or take,” Potter said, unstopping the vial.

Draco grimaced. The dosage they gave Potter should be sufficient for at least _eight_ hours of uninterrupted sleep. “Your body is getting used to the potion. How often did you take it unauthorised?”

Potter downed the whole vial then, maybe to keep Draco from taking it from him again. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Overall?” Draco asked to clarify. That was the first thing Healers learned. Patients generally weren’t known for their straightforwardness.

“Not exactly,” Potter said, sliding down until he was flat on his back.

Merlin, always with the riddles. “A year?”

“A week,” Potter admitted. He looked Draco in the eyes unapologetically. “Usually on the weekends, when there’s no training. So, will you? Stay? I promise not to attack you.”

Draco couldn’t help but groan. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it hadn’t been Harry Potter abusing Sleeping Potion that badly. Not that it was _bad_ for him per se. But it was definitely something his Healer should know, so he could adjust the dosage accordingly.

“You couldn’t, even if you wanted to,” Draco said mockingly, deciding to let all of that slide graciously. “You’re all dried up.”

And so, Draco summoned his blanket from the couch and lay down beside Potter, both of them staring up at the ceiling. Draco nudged a few of the feathers, and soon they were gliding through the air above them. It was like watching a snow flurry from inside your house. Warm and cosy and very calm.

“ _Malfoy?_ ” Potter whispered, his speech already slurred by fatigue.

“Mhhm?”

“You can use me,” Potter mumbled incoherently.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. He turned his head to look at Potter. “Come again?”

But Potter had already fallen asleep, a calm expression spreading over his face. What the fuck had he meant by _that_? Draco lay awake for another hour, mulling the words over and over in his head.


	26. Birds of a Feather [Wednesday, January 5th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, big thanks to hitomu, illindalenti, Fan, eliikequ, ThatBoringOne, 0anac0, serilla and Santa_Pacifica! I love all of you! 😊  
> Now let’s see if we can do something about Draco’s confusion.

Something was tickling his face. Draco scrunched up his nose and, when that didn’t help, tried to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

Somebody sneezed next to him and Draco opened his eyes. Feathers were slowly sailing down upon them, covering them like a thin blanket of snow.

Draco turned on his side and came face to face with Potter, whose tan skin and black hair stood out in stark contrast to the white feathers. Damn, how was he supposed to _not_ stare at that?

“Morning,” Potter said, smiling slightly. Like it was totally _normal_ to wake up in bed beside your childhood nemesis.

“Looks like your magic is back,” Draco said, keeping his eyes firmly on the feathers in his hair and far away from his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I could eat a hippogriff.” Potter yawned lazily. “You?”

Draco stretched his back experimentally, trying for pain, but there was only a little bit of stiffness. He peered down his t-shirt, inspecting the blossoming bruise. “Have been worse. If you’ll excuse me.”

He stood up to use the bathroom and then rummaged through the medicine cabinet, which was filled with all sorts of cremes and potions, most of which Potter should _not_ be able to purchase without a prescription. He also found multiple bottles of Dreamless Sleep, but that wasn’t really a surprise anymore, was it?

Draco treated his chest, put his t-shirt back on and then stomped back into Potter’s room, holding up the jar full of essence of arnica. Potter had already put on a pair of jeans.

“I thought you _misplaced_ this?” he said accusingly, waving the jar about.

“Come off it, Malfoy, we _both_ know I was clearly lying,” Potter said bluntly, even though he could just have pretended to have bought it after he had brought Emerald to Draco last month.

Without any warning whatsoever, Potter took off his t-shirt, displaying his unfairly toned body. The tiny wings on the thread around his neck fluttered slightly and Draco felt his concentration slip considerably. A distant memory was struggling to get to the forefront of his mind, but Draco couldn’t grasp it.

“So what,” said Draco to distract himself, “You just like your body black and blue?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Potter said. He ruffled his hair, dislodging some feathers.

Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion and Potter turned his back on him and disappeared into an adjoining room.

Draco, who refused to be fobbed off with that, followed him. “What _else_ could –?” he began, but then he caught sight of the clothes closet they had walked into.

To say it was large would have been an understatement. Potter’s actual bedroom was smaller than this, and Draco suspected that an expanding charm was at work here. They had a perfect view of the houses on the other side of the street, where the Black house had to be as well, as the outer walls were completely made of glass, safe for a small strip in the middle and at the top, along which clothes rails were attached.

Everything was sorted by category and then by colour, and Draco felt like he had just stepped inside the storeroom of Twilfitt and Tattings. He could see instantly that these clothes were high-quality and fashionable – safe for a small section that seemed to consist of leisure wear. Draco recognised almost everything from _that_ category, having seen Potter in practically nothing else _ever_.

“Why do you always wear those rags if you could be wearing _this_?” he asked reproachfully, gesturing at an emerald dress shirt made from silk, which would probably accentuate Potter’s eyes enough to make Draco swear off all other men forever.

“I _do_ wear that,” Potter said, rummaging through a vast collection of hand-knit sweaters.

“When? I’ve never seen you in anything even remotely tasteful.”

“You know ... on occasions. Press conferences, balls, ceremonies. Boring stuff.”

“ _You_ give interviews?” Somehow Draco found that very hard to believe, given Potter’s less than ideal history with reporters.

“ _I_ don’t, but my _team_ does,” Potter clarified, settling on a crimson sweater with a golden lion stitched to the front. “I just sit there and ignore every question that isn’t Seeker-related while Sam tries to glare me into being more ‘ _approachable’_.”

He pulled the sweater over his head while Draco browsed through designer clothes he would never be able to afford on his Healer’s salary. Well, maybe if he stopped buying food, which … _no_. But Merlin, he missed his elaborately Pure-blood wardrobe. Admittedly, there hadn’t been much colour, only blacks and whites and greys, but still, the quality of the fabric and the craftsmanship had been excellent.

It had been no use, of course. He couldn’t wear those things in the hospital and selling his clothes had provided him with enough gold to put down a deposit for a reasonably decent house. And he had to admit, these Muggle clothes were rather comfortable, if just to relax at home. But sometimes he longed for a soft cashmere sweater or a pair of dragon-skin gloves.

Draco picked up a flat box and opened it. Inside was a rich, emerald green scarf. He took it out and turned it over in his hands, the cool silk gliding through his fingers like water.

“Get a room,” Potter suggested drily.

“I _wish._ ” Draco sighed, turning the scarf over in search of a label or signature. “Where’s this from?”

Potter shrugged. “No idea. Sam does all my shopping.”

“Well, that certainly explains why everything is so tasteful, excluding what you actually pick out to _wear_ ,” Draco teased, gesturing at the whole of Potter’s outfit.

He didn’t catch Potter’s protest, as his fingers brushed over a slight rise in the fabric then – a tiny lightning bolt, stitched with a single shimmering thread.

Draco frowned. “I don’t recognise this signature.”

Up until now he had prided himself in knowing every designer there was to know. There were footsteps and then Potter was right beside him, looking down at the scarf in Draco’s hands, their arms touching.

“Oh, I think that one was actually a present,” he said, snatching the empty box from its shelf.

Draco had to consciously close his mouth, as it wouldn’t do that on its own anymore. “You mean it’s _self-made_? Who gave it to you?”

Potter clicked his tongue, turning the box over to no avail. “No idea,” he admitted.

“You don’t even know who bestowed this _masterpiece_ upon you?”

“Do you have any idea how many people send me stuff?” Potter said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t maintain a register. It’s just a scarf, right?”

“Just – _just_ a scarf?” Draco echoed, holding it up in front of Potter’s face. “This is finest silk and the signature is clearly made out of unicorn hair. You don’t find this in the bargain bin.”

“You’re such a _posh_ git, Malfoy.” Potter grinned at him almost fondly and took the scarf from him to put it back into its box, which he placed back on its designated shelf. Draco’s longing gaze followed.

And then Potter stepped into his field of view, green eyes locking with grey ones. Their feet were almost touching, Draco could feel warm breath fanning against his throat. Potter reached out for his face slowly and, Merlin, was he going to _kiss_ him? Draco had not even brushed his teeth yet!

“You’ve got something there,” Potter whispered and then his cool hand was in Draco hair.

Draco fought hard to resist the urge to close his eyes, to lean into his touch. He would just have to lean forward a bit to be able to taste Potter’s lips. He wouldn’t, though. No, definitely not. He could stay strong. He was here as his Healer, for fuck’s sake.

Draco squared his shoulders, determined now, and just a second later, Potter withdrew his hand, holding up what Draco suspected to be a down feather. He couldn’t tell for sure, because he found it impossible to break eye contact with Potter. It was like Potter’s eyes were on a whole other plane of existence than his determination.

“What did you mean last night?” he whispered, searching for an answer in Potter’s face. Potter looked up at him questioningly, cocking his head. “You said I could _‘use’_ you,” Draco elaborated. “Use you for what?”

“Oh. As your guinea pig,” Potter said, taking a step back. “The scar thing. I’ve got a few cursed ones you could practice on.”

Draco cleared his throat and then shook his head vehemently (to clear his head but also to make a point). “No way. I’ll most definitely _not_ cut you up.”

Potter seemed actually surprised. “Why not?”

“Because it will fucking _hurt_ , for one,” Draco said, crossing his arms.

“It hurts no matter who you choose.” Potter actually had the audacity to frown, as if Draco were being unreasonable. “And I don’t mind.”

“Which indicates a serious mental health issue. But that’s not new, is it?”

“Yeah, I’m a basket case,” Potter agreed. “Skeeter informed me ages ago. And if I remember correctly, she got that from _you_. Which is why you owe me this.”

“I spread rumours about you ten years ago, so you want me to make up for it by _cutting into your flesh while you’re fully conscious_?”

Potter actually _winked_ at him. “You got it.”

Draco shook his head again. “You really are a loon. Or maybe it’s still the potion speaking. Either way, I’m definitely not using you.”

And then Draco left the room to find something to wear other than his pyjamas.

~o~

There was a knock on the door around four in the afternoon. Draco, who had expected a horde of Potter’s adoring relatives much sooner (though not knocking on his door, but rather using the Floo), opened it to reveal his assistant Samantha Huxley instead.

“Hi,” she said, levitating three boxes past Draco and then coming in herself. She put her flat hands on either side of her mouth and shouted up the stairs. “ _Harry?_ ”

Potter stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Sam, what are shouting for? Come on in.”

Samantha rolled her eyes and directed her boxes to land on the kitchen island. “One can never be too careful around you,” she said accusingly, looking completely out of place in the sterile kitchen with her pink hair and bright blue robes.

“Preach,” Draco said and she shot him a sympathetic glance. Somehow, he didn’t think she could grasp the extent of the anguish he had to endure in Potter’s home.

Two of her boxes emptied themselves into the pantry. Potter’s eyes were fixed on the third one and he was tugging at a wavy strand of his hair nervously. A feather, which must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the mess, sailed to the floor.

“Have you heard anything from the Aurors?” Potter said suddenly, as if unable to keep it in any longer.

“Yeah …,” Samantha said hesitantly, giving Draco a sidelong glance. “Do you want to …?” She gestured at the door, evidently trying to have this conversation out of his earshot.

Draco pushed himself off the kitchen island he had been leaning on. “I’ll be upstairs; I still have some cleaning to do.”

“It’s alright,” Potter held him back with a hand on Draco’s arm, eyes fixed on Samantha, “Malfoy won’t sell me out. We’re friends.”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat in time with both of Samantha’s eyebrows rising up. He knew they hadn’t been enemies for years, but it still felt weird to hear Potter call them friends. Potter actually _trusted_ him. This wasn’t news for Draco, since Potter had practically invited him to live in his house for a whole week, but still. It seemed awfully official, all of a sudden.

“There isn’t really much to say,” Samantha said dejectedly. “They haven’t found the person responsible, but Ron mentioned that they might have a lead. He wouldn’t tell me more, since it’s an ongoing investigation. Sorry, Harry, I’m not very optimistic about it.”

“Do you suspect anybody?” Draco asked, but Potter just shook his head.

“I wouldn’t put it past McCarthy – she’s been after my spot ever since Matt made her Reserve Seeker. But she wasn’t invited. Everybody who was there, I or my friends trust.”

“What about the waiters?” Draco said thoughtfully. “Did you know them beforehand?”

Potter scoffed. “Why would a _Squib_ want to poison me?”

“The same reason _anyone_ would want to poison you? Which would be your abnormally annoying personality and that mob you call hair.”

Samantha’s eyebrows vanished underneath her pink bangs as Potter snorted in an attempt not to laugh. “Didn’t you say you two were _friends_?” she said doubtfully, her hand flexing around her wand.

“Yeah.” Potter grinned. “He takes some getting used to; I’m not denying that. But don’t worry, he _definitely_ didn’t poison me.”

“I’m still in the room, you know,” Draco complained. “I can hear you.”

“ _You_ just insulted _me_ to my face. Don’t dish out what you can’t take.”

“Because you asked. It would have been rude _not_ to tell you.”

“Well, it would also have been rude to let Sam believe you’re after my life,” Potter replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh boy.” Samantha sighed heavily. “There was nothing about this in my contract.”

And before either of them could say anything else, she grabbed the third box, opened it and took out grey and white Quidditch robes, the Falcon emblazoned on the front and Potter’s name and the number seven embroidered on the cape. The robes looked much cleaner than the ones Draco had seen him play in, the white of it almost blinding.

“New attire?” he asked curiously, trying to see if they had changed anything about it. Not that he knew the old ones in detail, but still.

Potter shook his head jerkily. “Photoshoot,” he said quite unhappily. “What charity is this for?”

“None,” said Samantha, holding his gaze. “This is for your actual job. The one that _pays_ you, you know?”

Potter crossed his arms immediately. “You know I only agreed to do one a year. It’s in my contract and everything!”

“And they’re cashing that one in now,” Samantha said resolutely.

“I just did the calendar shoot two months ago. They can’t _possibly_ be shooting next year’s calendar already.”

“They are not.” Now Samantha grinned broadly, like she had been looking forward to saying what came next. “These are for your Chocolate Snitch card.”

“My _what_ now?” Potter frowned. “I’ve already got a Chocolate Frog card.” He glanced at Draco and added, “Horrible, by the way.” As if Draco had never seen that one.

“They’re doing Chocolate _Snitches_ now. They’ll have collectible cards for Quidditch Players.” Samantha took out the rest of Potter’s Quidditch gear and placed it on the counter neatly. “I already fire-called the company and made them limit the number of cards they’ll print of you.”

“That’s really smart.” Draco nodded approvingly while Potter just furrowed his brows, staring at the black clothes in front of him. “Nobody gets excited for something they already have twenty of.”

“Thank you!” Samantha exclaimed, pointing at Draco. “At least _somebody_ understands what I’m trying to do for you, Harry.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Potter groaned, and he picked up the clothes and unfolded them. “Hey, this is not my size.”

“Come on, Harry. You don’t have to play in them. So what if they’re a _little_ tighter than what is practical?”

“What for?” Potter demanded, clenching his jaw and crossing his arms again.

“You’re very fit Harry, _obviously_. And I’m desperately trying to market your assets, but you’re giving me a really hard time.”

“I don’t want you to _market_ me,” Potter grumbled. “I need the exact opposite. I want people to think about me as rarely as possible.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” Draco commented drily. “You should have thought of that _before_ you got into professional Quidditch. But if you _really_ want to be forgettable, you could always give your position to McCarthy, right?”

“Over my dead body,” Potter snarled, crumbling his clothes in both hands.

“Then think of it this way,” Draco said smoothly. “People will be so busy gawking at what’s going on here,” he gestured at Potter’s body, “they’ll completely forget to stare at what’s going on there.” He pointed at Potter’s scar. “Which is a lot.”

Potter stared at him in disbelief, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Samantha took an unconscious step back, as if fearing the two of them could attack each other at any given moment. Which, frankly, Draco would not be all that much surprised by.

His mouth had just run itself, like old times. Potter’s fault, really. That never happened with other people. Maybe he should apologise.

But then Potter said, “Really think that’ll work?” and the twitch in his jaw transformed into a lopsided grin.

Draco grinned back, trying not to seem too relieved. “Well, Samantha is a woman and _she_ seems to think your body is an asset. And we both know she has _far_ better taste than you, so you should probably trust her on that one. That’s what you hired her for, is it not?”

“Yeah,” Potter admitted sheepishly, ruffling his hair.

“Don’t tell me that actually worked,” Samantha said perplexedly. “I’m definitely in favour of this very bizarre friendship. Even though I’m not entirely sure what the hell is happening, like, at all.”

“I don’t think anyone does,” Potter said, putting his pristine Quidditch uniform back into the box. “When and where?”

“I’ll pick you up on the fifteenth around noon. And please, I _beg_ you, don’t do anything to your hair.”

“Like what?” Potter said, shooting Draco, who had snickered quite involuntarily, a scathing look.

“Like trying to charm it to stay down. You’ll only offend it and make it so much worse.”

“Worse than that?” Draco said, raising both eyebrows at once. “Impossible.”

“You would think,” Samantha agreed. “But I’ve got the photographs to prove you wrong. Never published them, obviously.”

“Yeah alright, my hair is an abomination, _yada yada yada_ ,” Potter said, grabbing Samantha by the shoulders and steering her towards the door. “I’m sure you’ll meet again and I wouldn’t want you to use up your insults all at once. See you next week.”

Draco followed them into the hallway. “Until next time, Samantha. Please excuse Potter’s terrible rudeness. I’m trying to pin that on the Confounding Concoction.”

“Oh, not at all,” Samantha said cheerfully, not even resisting being pushed out of the door. “Usually I’m the one apologising for Harry’s improper behaviour. Being on the receiving end is actually way less hassle.”

Draco assumed she would have bid him goodbye too, but Potter had already slammed the door in her face. They were looking at each other in the sudden tranquillity.

“So,” Draco said. “When are we expecting your friends to descend upon us? It’s been three days already.”

“We’re not.” Potter went back into the kitchen to fold his uniform more neatly. “I’ll see them on Sunday for lunch at the Burrow.”

“So, you’re not seeing them for a whole week?” Draco clarified.

“That’s right,” Potter said, shutting the box more forcefully than was necessary. “I’ll take this upstairs.”

Draco decided against going after him. It sure felt wrong to think that Potter didn’t want his friends visiting him when he had spent the majority of his time at St. Mungo’s sulking when left alone for too long.

Maybe this had something to do with the potion? But surely somebody would have come around by now, since they couldn’t know about it? Fact was: Potter didn’t seem to want to talk about it.


	27. A Ghost of What We Were [Thursday, January 6th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Fan, XOX_Eternity_XOX, illindalenti, serilla, ThatBoringOne and hitomu. 😊  
> Title: Andrew Garcia - Ghost

The sixth day marked a distinctive setback in Potter’s recovery. Draco had gotten up at eight and, feeling generous, made pancakes. When those were done, he went up to check on his patient.

Potter was still fast asleep, hugging his pillow (which looked somewhat lumpy despite Draco’s best Reparo) with both arms and legs. His head was buried underneath the second pillow, as if to block out the sunlight streaming into his room. This seemed rather odd to Draco, since Potter could not possibly hope to notice intruders while he was buried like that.

But he was clearly breathing and also catching up on lost sleep, so Draco let him be and went back down to eat his share and put a warming charm over the rest. Potter would just have to deal with the _‘screwed-up texture’_ of his pancakes. Something about snoozing and losing.

After reading another chapter of his current book ( _‘Scarred for life?’_ ), Draco went up again to find Potter lying spread-eagled on top of his blanket. He cast a precautionary Protego and then proceeded to prod Potter’s shoulder very gently, firmly gripping his wand.

It felt massively anti-climactic when Potter just blinked at him and yawned extensively, and Draco had to actively tell himself to release his tense muscles.

“What time is it?” Potter asked while sitting up and stretching his arms above his head, which exposed his newest scar at the side of his stomach.

“Half past ten.” Draco ended his spell. Potter didn’t seem intent on attacking him, for a change.

“ _Shit!_ ” Potter jumped out of bed and vanished into his clothes closet in a hurry. “What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Draco said, frowning.

When Potter came out, he was dressed in black cloth trousers and a black jumper with a white shirt underneath. He was also wearing a red tie, which he had tied rather sloppily. “Have you seen my robes?” he asked and then dropped to his knees to look under his bed.

Draco eyed Potter’s quite formal get-up suspiciously. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Charms!” Potter said exasperatedly, rummaging through the top drawer of his bedside table. “I can’t find my wand either. Or my glasses! Why didn’t you wake me earlier, Ron?”

Draco, who usually considered himself a rather quick-witted wizard, was dumbfounded. “I’m not –”

“My personal assistant? Yeah, if you were, I definitely would have fired you by now. What did you tell Slughorn?”

“About ...?”

Potter, still kneeling beside the bed, stopped searching and looked up at him as if he were dense. “Why I wasn’t in Potions.” He moved on to the bottom drawer.

“I think you’re ill, P– Harry,” Draco said. Might as well use Potter’s hallucinations to his advantage now. “Why don’t you lie back down and I’ll get you something to eat?”

“Ill?” Potter echoed. He stopped his frantic search and sat back down on his bed. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Tell Flitwick I’m sick. No need to tell Trelawney, the _‘fogs of the future’_ have probably already told her all about my ‘ _unfortunate indisposition’_.”

Draco was unable to suppress his laughter. “Will do. Now, get back in bed.”

“Nah,” Potter grinned up at him. “I think I’ll see what Malfoy’s up to.”

The smile slipped from Draco’s face instantly. “ _Malfoy?_ ”

Potter rolled his eyes and huffed, quite irritated. “Save it. I _swear_ he’s up to something. And he has a free period before lunch, which would be the perfect opportunity to sneak off.”

Draco’s heart was hammering in his chest. Potter hadn’t really memorised his timetable in sixth year, right? He hadn’t been _following_ him?

He cleared his throat and managed to say, “I don’t think he’s up to something. _Actually,_ I think I saw him in the library earlier.”

“Really?” Potter perked up at that information. “Maybe he’s doing research for whatever task Voldemort gave him.” Potter must have seen Draco flinch at the name, because he frowned up at him. “Get over it already. Alright, let’s see.”

He took a quill from the open drawer of his bedside table and held it out like a wand. Draco quickly stepped out of the line of fire. “ _Accio Map._ ”

There was the sound of breaking glass and then a piece of parchment landed in Potter’s lap. He tapped it with the tip of his quill. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Before Draco could question any of it, letters and lines blossomed on the parchment, forming what seemed to be a map. Little black dots scurried across it like tiny ants. Draco stepped nearer and looked down at it.

Excitement spread through him like firewhisky. This was a map of _Hogwarts_. A map that apparently showed all of its occupants at any given moment! He found the Slytherin Dungeons, which were empty at the moment, since everybody was in lessons.

Was _this_ how Potter had evaded detention all those times? How he had found Draco in that bathroom? That had been a rather large coincidence, one which Draco had had a lot of time to think about in the Hospital Wing.

Where did Potter _get_ this map? Draco’s imagination went wild, picturing what _he_ could have done with it. Maybe it was for the best that Draco had not had it. _Definitely_ for the best.

“Sorry, Ron.” Potter said excitedly. “Malfoy’s not in the library. As a matter of fact, he’s not even _on_ the Map. He’s definitely in the Room of Requirement.”

“Wha- how can you know that?”

“Come off it, mate!” Potter said, still studying the map. “You know it doesn’t show the room because the Marauders didn’t know about it.”

“The Marauders,” Draco said flatly. He was clearly missing crucial inside information.

Potter just shot him a look, but didn’t explain. “That’s weird. The corridor is empty. Maybe he couldn’t get Crabbe or Goyle to keep watch?”

Draco had to sit down. Potter had known about that too? About his task, the Room, the Polyjuice? He had been much closer to finding him out than Draco had thought.

If only he had. Dumbledore had offered to protect his family, but there had been no time to really consider the offer. Maybe if he had found out earlier, without an army of Death Eaters already in the castle? If only there had been time to think about it. Would Draco have agreed to do it? Would Dumbledore really have been able to hide them away from _Him_? He had managed to keep Potter safe, mostly – barring the times Potter had run off on his own accord. But Potter was the Chosen One. The most important wizard of their time and age. The Malfoys had most definitely not been. Still weren’t and would never be.

“Alright, wish me luck,” Potter said, getting up. He pointed his quill at the map and said “Mischief managed,” which wiped it clean.

“ _Wait_!” Draco said, getting up as well. “You can’t just wander the corridors; you’re supposed to be sick.”

“I’m not daft, Ron,” Potter said, grinning and clasping his shoulder. “I’m taking the Cloak, of course.”

Draco’s mind was working overtime. It would certainly not do to have an invisible Potter running around the house while under the influence of Confounding Concoction. What he needed was a distraction.

“What about Quidditch? You’re our Captain and you haven’t even decided on a strategy for our match against Slytherin yet. The team is getting nervous.”

Potter looked at him flabbergasted and ruffled his hair. “I completely forgot about that!”

“Well, better get to it, then!” Draco said enthusiastically.

He grabbed Potter’s arm and guided him into the sitting room. Potter didn’t choose his usual chair in front of the fireplace, sitting down on the couch further away from it instead.

“Alright,” Potter said, putting the empty map down on the coffee table. “I need a quill. Did you bring one?”

Draco pointed at the one in Potter’s wand hand. “You’ve got one right there.”

Potter looked down at it as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, I do. Thanks.”

And then he leaned forward to scribble something down on the parchment. Draco managed to snatch it away just in time, and Potter’s quill left some ink on the very expensive coffee table instead.

“Not that one; that’s my homework,” Draco said, pocketing the map. He slid one of his own empty parchments over to him. “Here, take this one.”

Potter drew seven tiny stick figures at the top and another seven at the bottom, and then labelled them. At least Draco supposed he did, because his handwriting was completely illegible, and not just to the usual extent. He wasn’t even sure there was a single real letter on the parchment.

As his quill was no longer a wand, Potter was unable to charm his players into moving. He settled on drawing a collection of very confusing lines, which somehow reminded Draco of the London tube map.

“Hey, how tall are you?” Potter asked suddenly. His cheek was smudged with ink and his hair resembled a bird’s nest more than anything else. Albeit a very cosy one.

“What do you need that for?” Draco asked, trying to evade the question. How should _he_ know how tall Weasley was? He couldn’t exactly say, _‘Taller than Draco Malfoy.’_

“I wanna find out how far you can reach when you’re dangling from your broom by your ankles.”

“Are you _mental_?”

Potter rolled his eyes at him. There was some ink smudged across his cheek, which diminished the effect somewhat. “Come on, Ron. We talked about this!”

“I have no memory of this conversation whatsoever,” Draco insisted.

“Well, I do. It was the Sunday before last, when Gin scored three goals in a row.”

“That must have been quite embarrassing,” Draco commented blankly.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it, mate,” Potter lied. Draco wondered if Weasley usually believed these remarks _obviously_ meant to spare his very fragile self-confidence. “Gin was just in peak form. But then you saved the next one upside down. It was _spectacular_.”

Draco translated _that_ to mean that Weasley had slipped on his broom and hit the Quaffle purely by accident. He had a feeling Potter knew this too.

“And I agreed to do that again? What did Granger have to say about that?”

Potter frowned up at him and Draco suddenly realised that he had used her last name.

“We agreed not to tell her, _obviously_. Listen, you don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable with it,” Potter said, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Maybe _I_ should try it. Could also work for the Snitch, right?”

“Neither one of us should do it,” Draco said promptly, even though they were just pretend-strategizing and Coach Greyson would talk Potter out of it (Draco hoped) if he did end up remembering any of this later.

“Did you tell Hermione about this?” Potter asked suspiciously, as if that was the only explanation for Weasley to advise against this whacky endeavour.

“No, I didn’t. I’m just a little worried about, you know, falling off and _dying_.”

Potter furrowed his brow. “Dying? Because of Quidditch?”

“It’s not that far-fetched. Did you know the Falmouth Falcons’ Seeker died during a match just a few months ago? You would think he knows what he’s doing, right?”

“Well, _I_ won’t fall, so don’t worry,” Potter said with conviction. “Flying just feels _natural_ , like the Firebolt is part of my body.”

“You still fell off your broom in our third year,” Draco reminded him harshly.

“You _know_ that was because of the dementors,” Harry pressed out. “You try flying while Voldemort murders your parents and your mother pleads for your life.”

Draco felt his stomach drop through the floor. Not once during his school years had he wasted a single thought on what Potter heard when the dementors got near him. He simply had not cared, content to gloat in Potter’s weakness. He felt like a right arse about it now. Potter’s mother had died protecting her son, just as Mother would have done for him. Both her and Potter had said so during the trials. He could not imagine having to listen to her last moments, over and over again. No matter what their relationship was like now.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said silently. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just concerned about you.”

But Potter wasn’t ready to be appeased – he seemed rather enraged. The parchment was crumbled up in his hand and his quill looked close to snapping in two.

“I’m sick and tired of everybody trying to protect me. It doesn’t work, alright? I know everybody wants me to be the _Chosen One_ who saves the Wizarding world from Voldemort single-handedly. But I’d much rather die up in the air than –” Potter shook his head, as if trying to shake a painful memory, “– than _all alone_ in a dungeon! Or poisoned by a Basilisk! Getting swarmed by dementors. In a graveyard next to Cedric’s body, who _I_ persuaded to be there in the first place! Leading my friends to their deaths in the bloody Ministry! Or whatever shitty thing is going to happen _this_ year!”

There was a loud _snap_ and Potter threw the broken pieces of his quill onto the coffee table, jumping to his feet at the same time. His fists were clenched and he was shaking with anger, though he seemed to be in control of his magic.

Draco got to his feet automatically, not wanting to cower before Potter. He felt completely useless – he did not know what Weasley would say in this situation. Talking about feelings was considered to be in very bad taste, so Pure-blood families never did it. Well, at least the proper ones didn’t.

Draco wondered if Weasley had ever gotten the _chance_ to say anything, or if Potter had always kept those things locked up. He did not seem like the type of person to talk it out. And how could _anyone_ deal with trauma like that?

He needed to focus, think like a Gryffindor. _What would a Gryffindor do?_ Ironically, the first thing that came to mind was that there was no way to think like a Gryffindor, because Gryffindors did not seem to think much before acting. They just did.

So Draco did too, even if he didn’t really know _how_ to do it. He embraced Potter, squeezing him tightly. He told himself it was to convey a sense of security, but part of it was definitely to ensure that Potter had no room to punch Draco in the face. Potter tensed up for a moment, taken by surprise, and then hugged him back just as fiercely.

“Sorry, mate,” Potter croaked. “Guess I blew a fuse.”

“Don’t mention it,” Draco said, patting his shoulder awkwardly. He really was no good at hugging – it just felt like a horrible invasion of personal space, especially considering Potter assumed he was hugging Weasley.

Draco let go of him immediately – he had resolved to stop preying on Potter’s confusion, for fuck’s sake! Why did he always end up in these completely inappropriate positions?

Draco cleared his throat and gestured to the door. “Let’s go down and see what’s for lunch.”

Draco supplied Potter with a steady flow of pancakes and encouragement while the latter resumed his Quidditch preparations at the kitchen island. He refrained from challenging Potter’s more adventurous moves – it wasn’t like he would really utilise them.

“So, what’s a fuse?” Draco asked as the plates scrubbed themselves in the sink.

“A Muggle thing for electricity. If there’s too much tension, the fuse is tripped, killing the electricity. It’s to prevent fires,” Potter looked up from his notes, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I _think_ that’s how it works. I don’t think I ever got a real explanation.”

They spent the afternoon in the sitting room again. Draco was reviewing his notes, searching for a revelation, but there did not seem to be one. Maybe he would have to find another Healer to partner with? Then Draco could act as the test subject and his colleague could do the spells.

It was a good idea – in theory. Problem was, Draco did not want to share his research. This was his calling and he wanted his name connected to it, and nobody else’s.

He felt Potter’s gaze on him and looked up. Potter’s eyes were darting between the scroll of parchment in his own lap and Draco, who was sitting opposite him. Draco looked at him questioningly.

“Hey, Malfoy? Why am I writing an essay on the Patronus Charm?” Potter was rubbing his arms in an absent gesture.

“I thought it a bit cruel to assign History of Magic,” Draco replied smoothly, quietly impressed Potter could apparently read the hieroglyphs on his parchment. “Also, I didn’t want to have to dissuade you from procrastinating all afternoon.”

“Let me rephrase that. Why am I writing an essay, period?”

“Because you’re sixteen and still in school, of course.”

Potter groaned and dropped his head on the backrest of the couch. “How long have I been out of it?”

“It’s been close to eight hours now,” Draco said, glancing at his watch. “You’re really making the most of this potion, I’ll say.”

Potter just groaned some more and looked back down at his three scrolls of parchment. “You’d better give me top marks for that one. Or _else_.”

“Hate to disappoint you, Potter, but I can’t read any of that. You’ll have to tell me what this ominous _‘else’_ entails.”

“Are you telling me I just wrote all of that for nothing?”

“That’s as much your fault as it is mine,” Draco replied smoothly. “I asked for one scroll, the additional two are on you. Who would have thought you were such an overachiever?”

Potter chucked a scroll at him, which hit Draco squarely in the chest. “You take that back right now!”

“Can’t if it’s true,” Draco said, tossing the scroll into the fire.

“It’s not! I just happen to like Defence.”

“‘ _Like’_?” Draco scoffed. “You don’t start an extremely illegal underground club for something you just _like_. I was pretty sure you would try for the teaching position after the war.”

Draco didn’t mention that his first guess had been that Potter would become an Auror. Knowing what he did now, Potter would not have made a good Auror. He was distrustful and unpredictable, and the stress of the job would surely have done disastrous things to him.

Truth be told, Draco was actually rather impressed that Potter had not just pushed all his issues aside and followed his hero complex down this doomed path.

Potter snorted and leaned over to the next sofa to retrieve his blanket. “Spending practically all year cooped up in the castle with a bunch of teens? No thanks.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t actually _have_ to stay there. Nothing stops you from Apparating home at the end of the day. Some of them just seem to have nowhere else to be, which is rather pathetic if you stop to think about it.”

“Wow. That’s even sadder than I realised,” Potter said thoughtfully. “But still, I’m not going to deal with homework for the rest of my life. Imagine having to read fifty essays at once, all of them on the same topic, year after year.”

“You may have a point,” Draco agreed, stacking up his own parchments.

“Believe it or not, I actually wasted a thought or two on what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

“Consider me converted,” Draco said with a smile.

Now that Potter seemed alright to be left alone for a moment, he was free to leave the room and return the map to its place. Finding it was easy – the fourth door, the one he hadn’t opened until now, stood ajar.

It was a study. On the wall hung a pinboard full of children’s drawings and photos. There were several of friends and family and also a snippet from the Prophet – it showed Felicity McCarthy getting hit by a Bludger and crashing into Potter. A small banner above the pinboard read _‘Harry’s Happy Wall’_ in a neat, cramped handwriting that couldn’t be Potter’ _s_.

Upon the otherwise empty desk lay a picture frame, the glass smashed to pieces. Draco placed the map inside, repaired the glass and righted the frame.

“Malfoy? I’m hungry! Come downstairs so I can teach you how to make pizza!”

“Coming!” Draco shouted, leaving the study in a haste. He wasn’t really sure if he was even allowed to be in there in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly excited for the next one! 😊


	28. When We Collide [Friday, January 7th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say, I really, really love your comments. I’m not a fan of spelling every little thing out, so it’s really great to read all the things you guys pick up on! 😊
> 
> Thank you Fan, pharmacoholic, AlluraBelle, night, ThatBoringOne, serilla, illindalenti, Amanda, Evierosie02 and WildvanillaRose!
> 
> Also, no need to feel sorry for Harry. I’m sure he loved writing that essay 😉 He wrote all of it without any books for reference after all!
> 
> Title: Matt Cardle - When We Collide

It came back to bite Draco in the arse faster than he would have anticipated. He had barely opened his eyes on Friday morning when Potter’s harsh, somewhat panicked voice reached him in the sitting room.

“ _Shit, shit, shit_ … Malfoy?!”

Draco stumbled off the sofa, grabbed his wand and followed Potter’s voice almost blindly, wondering just what the hell could have happened now.

The door to the study stood open and from inside came the frantic sound of paper rustling. Potter was bent over the desk, flipping through a folder full of newspaper clippings. There was a small tower of identical folders on either side of him.

Potter only glanced at him when he came in, and Draco jumped when the door snapped shut on its own.

Wand still held at chest level, Draco took a few tentative steps towards the desk. You really couldn’t be too careful with Confounded patients and Potter certainly didn’t seem all there.

“What exactly are you doing?” asked Draco carefully as he took a look over his shoulder.

Potters hands ghosted over every newspaper cut-out, tracing the publishing date for a second and then moving on to the next one. All of them seemed to concern him, and most had notes scribbled in the margins.

Potter muttered something and then closed the folder when he had reached the last page. He gave Draco a look and then pointed at the picture frame containing his map. “Somebody moved it. It’s always right here,” he said urgently, sliding it maybe ten inches to the left.

Draco dropped his arm immediately, fixing Potter with a very dubious look. “You’re kidding right?”

“I never … I … somebody –“ He was stammering now, as if he couldn’t find the right words to explain why that was such a big deal.

“ _I_ moved it, you idiot,” said Draco pointedly. “You smashed the glass during your little school recap yesterday.”

Potter froze and turned around in slow motion. His face was unreadable. “You … _why_?”

Draco sighed in irritation. “I _just_ told you. Merlin, Potter, I really thought you burned through most of the potion yesterday.”

“I’m n-“ started Potter, but then he stopped mid-sentence, staring at a spot somewhere behind Draco before continuing in a much calmer voice, “Yes … guess I _am_. Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

In a flash, he turned back towards his desk, grabbed all the folders at once and placed them in one of the tall filing cabinets on either side of the desk. He waved a hand at it (something clicked audibly) and then turned around (the door opened on its own) and practically pushed Draco out.

Merlin, this was worse than working with any trauma patient he’d ever had. Draco couldn’t fathom why anybody would ever choose the Potions ward. He would definitely never transfer _there_. Also, Potter _definitely_ needed to get out of the house.

Draco took his chance when they were sitting at the kitchen island a few minutes later. “So,” he said casually, pretending to fully concentrate on buttering his toast. “Granger and Weasley invited you to dinner tonight.”

Potter dropped his toast back onto his plate. “They did?” he asked, perking up visibly. He seemed to come back to his senses now.

“Yes,” Draco assured him. “The owl arrived while you had your little freak-out. I could drop you off and pick you up afterwards.”

“Yeah,” Potter said thoughtfully, brushing a hand through his hair.

He must’ve showered before his freak-out and since his hair was still wet, this did not have the same catastrophic effect it normally had. Draco wondered if the soothing aspect of it was therefore lessened.

“Or you could stay and eat with us?” Potter said suddenly, looking at him expectantly.

Draco nodded slowly, wondering which of his life choices had led to him getting into this situation. “Sure, I guess I could. I’ll owl Granger and ask if it’s alright.”

Potter smiled at him and continued to eat his toast and then five more while Draco nibbled at his own and began drafting his letter to Granger. When he was finally finished, it read:

_Dear Granger,_

_As being cooped up inside this practically sterile environment is detrimental to Potter’s (mental) health, I would recommend dinner at your house tonight. I already told him that you invited him, so you can just go ahead and tell me what time would work for you. Also, he wants me to ask you if it would be alright if I came along._

_Best regards,_

_Draco Malfoy_

He assigned the letter to Pig, who gently nibbled at his little finger before taking the parchment ( _that_ was how owls should behave!), and began hoping that Granger did not have anything scheduled for her evening already. Draco didn’t really fancy telling Potter that their plans fell through. Or worse – that there never had been any plans to begin with.

Draco was pretty sure that Granger had not written the answer that arrived an hour later, because it only read ‘ _6 pm’_ and wasn’t even signed. He informed Potter and then ordered his queen to slaughter the last of Potter’s bishops, which didn’t seem to bother him at all. When Draco won their fifteenth game at quarter to five, Potter got up and stretched his legs.

“Guess I’d better start cooking now. Wanna help?”

“What for?” Draco asked. “We’re invited for dinner, remember?”

Potter seemed completely unfazed by that piece of information. “Yeah, I know.”

“And do you also know what it _means_ to be invited? Usually the host provides the food.”

“Trust me,” Potter said. “It’s necessary. I’m surprised they even invited us for mealtime.”

“Wonders never cease.”

“So, you helping?”

“Guess that’s what I’m here for,” Draco said. “Wouldn’t want you to impale yourself on a knife or something. If anyone can do it, its you.”

Potter threw one of the pawns at Draco’s chest. Draco caught it before it could hit him and then tried very hard not to show how much his hand hurt. Potter really was a strong thrower.

“Not bad,” Potter acknowledged. “You should really get back into Quidditch.”

Draco couldn’t help but flash him a cocky grin and Potter grinned right back at him.

 _‘Helping Potter cook’_ turned out to be code for ‘ _doing all the work while Potter issued instructions from his place at the kitchen island’_. Potter seemed really opposed to cooking the Muggle way and also had very strong opinions on how a spell was supposed to be performed to achieve ideal results. Draco started to wonder halfway through if Potter had somehow deduced that Draco had invited themselves and if this was his way of punishing him for it. Nobody could be _that_ much of a tyrant in the kitchen.

Maybe it was a good thing that Potter wasn’t interested in him. Draco wasn’t sure if he could put up with this on a regular basis. And it was somewhat reassuring to see that even the Saviour had his flaws – apart from his self-sacrificing ways, the trust issues and the fleeting grip on his temper, that was.

Yes, Draco was _definitely_ getting over him.

~o~

They stepped through the Floo at six sharp, the food containers shrunken and tucked away in the pocket of Draco’s trousers. They were not greeted by Granger and Weasley but rather by their voices drifting over from where Draco assumed the kitchen was.

“I swear to God, Ron, if this one turns out to be inedible too …!”

Weasley sounded like he was going to throw in the towel any second now. “I’m _trying_ , but it just won’t water down! It just gets more solid the longer I stir.”

“How is that even possible? We followed the recipe _exactly_. Oh, they’ll turn up any minute now. This is just typical.” 

Draco glanced at Potter, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else than here, where he had to listen to his two best friends bickering. Draco, on the other hand, was having a great time. This was every Slytherin’s dream.

“Maybe one of us should just Apparate to _Bamboo_ and get something to eat,” Weasley said in resignation. “I don’t have much hope for the stew. You’ll be able to _cut_ it any minute now.”

“This _someone_ would be me, I presume?” Granger said, a dangerously sharp note in her voice.

“Yeah, well, you speak Muggle.”

“ _‘Muggle’_ is not a language, Ronald. It’s also not rocket science.”

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m talking about!” Weasley cried. “What the bloody hell is that supposed to _mean_?”

“It’s a figure of speech. Meaning you don’t have to be a genius to converse with Muggles. How will you ever learn if you’re avoiding every single opportunity to talk to them?”

“ _Please don’t say it_ ,” Potter whispered. “ _Come on, Ron._ ”

“Why do I even _need_ to learn? I’ve got you to translate, haven’t I?”

Draco closed his eyes as Potter groaned beside him. Even _he_ knew that was a stupid thing to ask your Muggle-born wife.

Granger’s voice was several octaves higher now. “Some of our best friends are Muggles. My _whole family_ consists of Muggles! Do you think we’ll just stick to your magical family from now on and completely forget about mine? Or that you’ll just be able to sit by and be silent for hours on end?”

She was really getting into her stride now. Potter grabbed his arm and tried to drag him back to the fireplace. “Let’s go back and come through again, come on.”

“Are you kidding me? No way I’m leaving _now,_ ” Draco protested while Weasley stammered something about misunderstandings. “I love when Weasley talks himself into trouble. This is the best dinner I’ve ever attended.”

“Where not even officially here yet,” Potter argued, glancing at the Floo longingly.

“Irrelevant.”

“ _Hermione!_ ” Potter shouted suddenly, apparently realising Draco wouldn’t budge. “We’re here!”

“Oh shit,” Weasley said, and there was a splashing sound, like he had dropped the cooking spoon into the pot.

“You wouldn’t have lasted a day in Slytherin,” Draco said drily, scarcely trying to hide his disappointment.

“That’s not what the Sorting Hat said,” Potter said.

And before Draco could ask what he meant by that, Potter left him behind and went off in search of his friends, who had stopped arguing the instant Potter had announced their presence. Draco followed him into the kitchen more hesitantly.

“Harry! It’s _so_ good to see you. How are you?”

“Brilliant,” Potter lied through a mouth of Granger’s bushy hair. “Apart from the fact that I’m starving.”

Weasley and Granger exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

“How ‘bout some Chinese? ‘Mione can entertain you while I pop over to _Bamboo Dynasty_.”

“Nah, I’m not really in the mood for Chinese,” Potter said. “How about some lasagna?”

“No problem. Ron can swing by Alessio’s. We haven’t been in ages.”

“Or we could just eat the one Malfoy made,” Potter suggested.

“ _Malfoy?_ ” Weasley and Granger said in disbelieving unison.

“ _Me?_ ” Draco asked as well. Not that it wasn’t true. He had just not expected Potter to give all the credit to him that easily.

“Well, you _did_ perform all the spells, didn’t you?”

“I don’t even _know_ what I did and did not do. All I remember is constant nagging and a never-ending stream of insults aimed at my cooking skills.”

Draco took out the insulated food container and spelled it back to its original size. Granger and Weasley exchanged a significant look that Draco couldn’t read.

“You let Harry boss you around _and_ produced something edible?” Weasley said.

“Well, I don’t know about edible ...” Draco answered. “Potter really isn’t the best instructor. More like the worst. _Ever_.”

“Ever?” Potter protested. “I told you exactly what to do!”

“You only told me exactly what _not_ to do!” Draco replied drily. “ _‘Malfoy, don’t flick your wrist like the posh git you are!’ ‘Malfoy, don’t stir it so slowly, you dramatic prick!’ ‘Malfoy_ – _’_ “

“Yes, I think we get it,” Potter said while his two best friends tried to contain their giggling. “Let’s eat this lasagna and then all of you can start congratulating me on my mad teaching skills.”

“ _Something_ about you is mad alright,” Draco agreed.

They ate the lasagna, which was not only edible but downright delicious. Draco dithered between wanting credit for his hard work and _not_ wanting to endorse Potter. He could do without his boasting and the smug look on his face. But then Potter smiled at him, mouth stuffed to the bursting, and Draco didn’t care anymore. He was such a goner.

~o~

Potter lasted longer than Draco would have thought possible, though he addressed the Erumpent in the room as soon as they were finished eating. Granger was still holding her fork.

“So, got any leads on my case?”

Weasley charmed the table clean before he answered the question. Draco was pretty sure that Granger had everything to do with this.

“Well, for one, we’re pretty sure the potion wasn’t in anything you ate. Our potions consultant assures us that the Confounding Concoction would make the food that was served that night look inedible.”

“So, he drank it?” Draco asked.

“Most likely. The potion must have been in one of Harry’s drinks. Problem is, those cups get reused. They are charmed to Scourgify themselves when they’re empty,” Weasley said.

“But I thought those waiters were all Squibs?” Draco said curiously.

“They are, but the owner of the company is a witch. Wants to reduce waste, she said. And having the waiters clean those cups by hand obviously wouldn’t work.”

“How very convenient for the poisoner,” Draco commented grimly.

“You can say that again,” Weasley agreed. “All we were able to do is find the cups that bear Harry’s magical signature and map all the other signatures on it.”

“ _And?_ ” Potter prompted, leaning forward in his chair.

“Well, in order to match a signature to the person, you need to know what their signature _looks_ like.”

“It’s like a finger print for witches and wizards,” Granger elaborated. “Useless without a database to refer to.”

“And I’m guessing the Ministry doesn’t have that?” Potter deflated visibly.

“Only for its employees and criminals. Luckily for us, practically all of our guests were willing to have a sample taken.”

“So, did you get somewhere with that?”

Weasley shook his head dejectedly. “We know who had access to all the cups you drank from, but I really don’t know what to make of it.”

“Can I have a look?” Potter asked. “Maybe something will catch my eye.”

Weasley summoned a thin manila folder and dropped it onto the table. Draco slid his chair closer to Potter so he could look over his shoulder. He expected one of the Golden Trio to object, but none of them did. On the contrary – Potter even angled the folder so he could read it more easily.

The register listed the magical signatures from oldest to most recent.

**_Mapping of magical signatures:_ **

_Exhibit 26: plastic cup, 8 oz, red_ – _Ginevra Weasley, Harry Potter, Ginevra Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Carys Jenkins (Auror)_

 _Exhibit 27: plastic cup, 8 oz, red_ – _Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, Leona Robinson, person unknown, Easton Haynes, Carys Jenkins (Auror)_

 _Exhibit 28: plastic cup, 8 oz, red_ – _Fleur Weasley, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Rosalie Burberry, Esther Smith, Carys Jenkins (Auror)_

 _Exhibit 29: plastic cup, 8 oz, red_ – _Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Amanda Fawcett, Harry Potter, Marie-Luise Dupein, Carys Jenkins (Auror)_

_Exhibit 30: plastic cup, 8 oz, red – Flynn Montgomery, Phaedra Armstrong, person unknown, Leona Robinson, Harry Potter, Carys Jenkins (Auror)_

_Exhibit 31: plastic cup, 8 oz, red_ – _Angelina Johnson, Harry Potter, Leona Robinson, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Carys Jenkins (Auror)_

Draco registered his own name with a pang of guilt. Nobody had asked _him_ to please supply a sample of his signature. They obviously hadn’t needed to, because Draco fell under the category of _‘criminals’_ and the Ministry already had a sample of him from his trial after the war. He wondered if that made him an automatic suspect.

“Alright. So, the potion must have been in the cup before you got it, obviously,” Weasley said. “That means we’re looking at the people who had access to it immediately before you.”

“Ginny, you, Fleur, Amanda Fawcett, Leona and Angelina,” Potter listed. “Well, you, Ginny and Fleur obviously didn’t do it. Angelina is practically family at this point too. And I trust Leona completely.”

“Why?” Draco interrupted.

Potter frowned at him, as if he could not believe that Draco would ask something like that. Like the thought of _not_ trusting Robinson was somehow an insult to him.

“Because she’s my friend and also Team Captain? Plus, she’s not an _idiot_ – Leo would never hurt her own team.”

“Bloody Gryffindors,” Draco groaned. “Wormtail was your parents’ friend, was he not?”

Potter squared his jaw, clenching his fists. “Wormtail was a _coward_ who put his own life before my parents’. You can’t compare Leona to him!”

“Still your parents trusted him with their lives,” Draco pressed on. “You have to consider every possibility.”

“I won’t consider _that!_ ” Potter said tensely. “So can go right on and forget about it.”

Draco had no intention to back off. If he was being honest, he thought that Potter was a complete moron if he blindly trusted every single one of his friends. How could he be so leery of strangers and then turn around and refuse to question his friends’ loyalties?

Draco had thought that Vince and Greg had been his friends, once. But then the Malfoys had fallen from grace, Greg had rebelled against him and Vince had nearly _killed_ them all. So much for loyalty.

Granger kicked him under the table and Draco yelped in shock. But when he glowered at her, she returned his look with an eye-roll, jerked her head in Potter’s direction and then shook it slightly. It was then that Draco noticed how static the air had become. Potter certainly was pissed at him. And Draco really didn’t want to risk tipping him over the edge. His chest was still slightly bruised as it was.

“Fine, what about Fawcett? Do you know her?”

“She’s a colleague of mine,” Weasley cut in before Potter could answer.

“And I’m guessing we’re not suspecting Aurors, either?” Draco said.

“No,” Potter ground out. “We’re not, because Ron trusts her.”

“One or more people on this list didn’t give their sample,” Weasley continued before they could get into it again. “But the first one only got the cup after you, Harry. And the second didn’t have it directly before you, either.”

“Do you know who didn’t agree?” Potter asked. Weasley nodded and turned the register over.

**_Guests who did not provide a sample:_ **

– _Clarice Burgoise (Mediwitch at St. Helén’s Hospital / Paris)_

– _Bartholomew Bradbridge (Boyfriend of Phaedra Armstrong)_

– _Sabrina Underwood (Saleswitch at Quality Quidditch Supplies)_

– _Franklin Wright (Curse Breaker at Gringotts)_

**_Squibs with no magical signature:_ **

– _Barnaby Fisher_

– _Caelan Moss_

– _Mychaell Fitzgeffrey_

– _Cecily Tilghman_

– _Humphrie Lyfelde_

– _Titus Hampden_

– _Lawrence Norwich_

Next to the names were headshots of the listed guests and Squibs. Draco recognised Tilghman as the one he had sent over with Potter’s food (because she was the only woman among them), and Fitzgeffrey as one of the Poly-Party Squibs Blaise had pointed out (because he was the only good-looking one). He couldn’t really remember if it had only been the one. His memory was rather fuzzy and mostly overshadowed with what had happened afterwards.

“Squibs don’t have a signature?” Potter asked confusedly. “So, one of them could have done it and we would never know they even _touched_ the cup?”

“Pretty much,” Weasley confirmed. “We’re interviewing the Squibs next week, but I don’t expect much. It’s not as if any of them will just confess to something we can’t prove.”

“Did you talk to these four guests?” Draco asked, pointing at the top of the page.

“Of course we did. But none of them have a motive and they still wouldn’t have had access to the cup directly before Harry, so we can’t just take their signatures.”

“So, you’re thinking a _Squib_ did it?” Potter sounded rather incredulous. “Why would they do that? I never did them wrong, did I?”

“It’s no use thinking about that,” Granger said. “There could be a million reasons. They could dislike you on a personal basis and it could have nothing to do with them being a Squib. They could be deranged. Or they didn’t do it at all and there is an entirely different explanation. There are just too many unknown variables.”

Potter snapped the folder shut and leaned back in his chair, ruffling his hair thoroughly. “So, basically, you have no hope of catching the bastard.”

“We’re doing what we can, but it doesn’t look too good,” Weasley admitted. “It’s driving Carys mad.”

“Oh right, I saw her name in the file. What’s up with that? I thought she went to America with her fiancé?”

“Turns out the bastard has a side-chick over there. That’s probably why she is so hell-bent on solving this case. She practically _lives_ at the Ministry at the moment.”

“He let her quit her job and leave her home country while he was _cheating_ on her?”

“Yep. Don’t worry, we already offered to hex him. More than once.”

“I hope she did that herself.” Potter scoffed and tipped his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Man, love really _sucks_.”

All of them raised their eyebrows. Granger and Weasley exchanged an apprehensive look that rather felt like they were silently battling out who would have to speak to Potter about it.

“Come again?” Draco said, dumbfounded. “Didn’t you use the ‘ _Power of Love’_ to vanquish You-Know-Who?”

Potter shook his head without looking at him. “Nah, not really. That was just to keep him from hurting anyone else. Didn’t _kill_ him, though.”

“Ah well, if that’s _all_ it accomplished!”

“Harry, is this about Grace again?” Granger asked carefully. “We thought you were over that.”

Potter crossed his arms and glared at her without any force behind it. “I’m _fine_. It’s not like I’m still hung up on her or something. I’m completely fine. It’s just the principle of the thing. Love’s great if you’ve got it. But if you don’t, it’s just plain awful. But I’m fine.”

Well, that were an awful lot of _‘fine’_ s for Draco’s taste. He was prepared to go out on a limb and argue that Potter was a _little_ less than fine.

“Come on, Harry,” Granger said. “You’ve got a family, a ton of friends – you know we all love you.”

Potter shot Draco a side-glance, as if he really didn’t want to have this conversation in front of an outsider. “ _Why_ exactly are we talking about how pathetic my love life is?

Draco snorted involuntarily and three Gryffindors glared at him. Draco grinned back. “Sorry, it’s just kind of ridiculous.”

“Well, nice of you to tell me,” Potter snarled. He stood up abruptly, almost knocking over his chair. “I’m bloody exhausted, I think I’ll go home now. Thanks for the invite.”

And then Draco was left to stare at the door Potter had vanished through, his mind reeling in a desperate attempt at catching up with what had just happened. “What a Drama Queen.”

Weasley groaned. “Whatcha do _that_ for?”

“You’d better go after him,” Granger advised, standing up as well.

Draco crossed his arms. “I’ll not encourage such childish behaviour!” Then he crossed his legs too, demonstrating that he was not going anywhere.

“Rightly so,” Granger agreed to his surprise. And still she gestured for him to stand up. “But how will you get back into the house if Harry’s not with you?”

Draco was still for a second. Then he jumped to his feet, just as the fireplace roared to life in the next room.

“Fuck’s sake, Potter! Don’t you _dare_ leave me here!”

Potter was already dropping the Floo powder into the flames as Draco ran through the door. He made eye contact as Draco made a dash for him and said “Number twenty-two, Grimmauld Place” in a distinctively deliberate tone.

Green flames roared up around them as Draco barged into the stupidly stubborn fool and they rotated together.

Immediately, Draco could tell something was off. They weren’t spinning around their axis but rather twisting all over the place, probably because he had knocked Potter over with the force of his sprint.

It took less than a second and they were thrown out of the fireplace, barrelling across a dusty carpet together. Potter was on top of him when they finally crashed into a wall. Groaning, he braced his arms on either side of Draco’s head and glared down at him.

“What the fuck, Malfoy? You didn’t have to _jump_ me!”

Well, glaring was something Draco could do as well. “Yeah? So, you would have come back to get me, that it? Or were you planning on giving me full access to your Floo?”

Now Potter actually growled. “I was going to let you stew for a few minutes! I wouldn’t have locked you out when all of your stuff is still scattered all over my sitting room.”

“My things are not _scattered_! They’re neatly positioned at strategic places!”

“Could’ve fooled me!” Potter was breathing very hard and Draco wasn’t sure if their crash or his anger was the reason.

Either way, Draco could feel his warm, frantic breath on his face and smell his minty shampoo. He shook his head slightly to clear it, but it didn’t do much good.

Stupid hormones. Stupid Potter with his stupidly fit body. Being propped up like this really brought out his biceps. Draco hated all of it, but most of all himself and his stupid feelings.

“Why are you so _butthurt_ all of a sudden? The one time I didn’t even insult you!” Draco said, his voice breaking awkwardly.

He wished Potter would _at least_ still wear his glasses. Anything to make him less perfect. Well, he reckoned there still was the scar to disfigure him somewhat. Though now that he really looked at it, it wasn’t all that bad anymore. It actually looked rather nice, contrasting pleasantly with his tan Mediterranean skin and drawing attention to his vibrant green eyes.

Merlin, Draco really was a disaster.

Potter stilled and then furrowed his brow. “You _didn’t_?”

Right. Back to the topic. Fighting, he knew how that worked.

“ _No!_ It was just completely absurd hearing you complain about your love life when I haven’t had a relationship in _years_. Or anything in that general area. _At all_.”

“You’re lying,” Potter said, narrowing his eyes. “Stop pulling my leg.”

“I’m not. Why would I ever _tell_ you something like that if it weren’t true? If you’re pathetic, then I don’t know what you’d call me.”

“An old trout?” Potter suggested. “Or maybe a prude.”

Draco tried to push Potter off, but Potter didn’t budge, suddenly grinning down at him instead. “Though it didn’t seem like that down at the shore.”

“That doesn’t count,” Draco protested. “I was severely drunk. Refilling glasses should be banned. They’re a serious safety hazard.”

“But you’re not drunk _now_.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Obviously? Though I’m starting to wish I were.”

“We could, you know …,” Potter started. He didn’t seem to miss the way Draco raised his eyebrows even higher, because then he leaned back and crossed his arms, looking severely put out. “Oh, come on! Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. I’m not _blind_ , you know? I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind.”

Something inside Draco’s stomach performed several loopings – first, there was shock, which transformed into disbelief, which became excitement for a single second, before it finally settled on annoyance.

“I don’t want your pity snogs,” he snarled, trying again to push Potter off.

Potter prevented this by grabbing both of Draco’s wrists and pinning them on either side of his head. He was smaller and lighter than Draco – he shouldn’t be this strong! Maybe it was time for Draco to exercise regularly, build up some muscle?

“This is not _pity_ , Malfoy!”

If there was something Draco didn’t like, it was being pinned to the ground by one of his patients. Which, at the moment, Potter was. Draco bucked his hips and nearly managed to throw Potter off. He probably could have done it if the person in question hadn’t been someone who had managed to hold on to a broom gone wild when he was only eleven.

As it was, Potter’s weight only shifted from where he was sitting on Draco’s stomach to where he was keeping Draco’s wrists in place – which hurt like his bones were going to snap any moment now. Draco hissed in pain just as something fell out of the front of Potter’s t-shirt and onto Draco’s chest.

Tiny wings on a thread – _silver and gold_. Draco had seen it before, when he had made Potter strip in his kitchen, and then when Potter had stripped in his bedroom, completely of his own accord. But he suddenly remembered something else – another instance when almost the exact same thing had happened.

“It was you!” Draco yelled, instantly livid.

His whole lower body jerked violently and Potter was thrown off to the side, landing hard on his back next to Draco with a yelp.

“ _Ouch._ Fucking hell, Malfoy. You could’ve just said no. No need to get aggressive.” Potter sat up and massaged his back.

Draco just decided to ignore him. He sat up as well and slapped Potter’s arm repeatedly, all the while practically yelling, “It was _you_ at the shore!”

“ _Ouch,_ stop that! You already knew that; I don’t know why you’re losing your plot _now!_ ”

Draco refused to stop it. He had a right to slap Potter as much as he liked right now, all poisonings aside. “You were the one who _kissed_ me!”

“ _Again_ , you already knew that!”

“I bloody well did _not_ know that!”

Potter managed to grab his left wrist and kept trying to block his right. “You told me, like, the week after it happened. Immediately before informing me you would never do it again and never intended for it to happen in the first place. That still stings, by the way.”

Draco groaned loudly but stopped trying to hit Potter. He felt more like hitting himself right now. Preferably in the face.

“What I told you was that I _thought_ I knew you watched me and your doppelganger make out. Which was a very unpleasant thought for me, naturally. Not helped by the fact that, at the time, I thought you and Blaise were going out.”

Potter stared at him, looking just like Draco felt right now. And then, because Draco was not a complete idiot (or maybe precisely because he _was_ ), he grabbed Potter by the shoulder and kissed him. Potter’s lips were hot and desperate against his, and immediately there were hands in Draco’s hair and on his back, drawing him closer still.

Draco followed Potter’s lead willingly and now he was the one on top, pinning Potter down with the weight of his upper body, forearms braced on either side of Potter’s head. There were two cold hands on his back now, gripping his shirt as if to keep him in place, pressing them flush together.

Draco wanted nothing more than to shove his hands under Potter’s t-shirt and touch his stupidly fit body. Sadly, he already needed his arms to prevent Potter from being crushed under the full weight of his body. He settled for fisting his hands in Potter’s soft, curly hair.

As if Potter was sharing his thoughts, his hands went underneath Draco’s shirt, stroking his back. His hands were like ice on Draco’s skin and he inhaled sharply, biting Potter’s lower lip in the process, which made Potter groan and then there was his tongue against Draco’s and –

There was a very loud _CRACK_ and Draco was thrown off Potter, hitting the wall with a _BANG_! All the air left his body at once and he barely registered Potter yelling in response.

“ _Kreacher,_ no!”

“Master is being attacked. Kreacher has to defend his Master!”

“I’m not being attacked!” Potter yelled. “And under no circumstances do I want you to hurt Malfoy, do you understand me?”

The house-elf looked down at Draco with a mortified look on its face. “Master Draco! No! Kreacher harmed the mistress’s great-nephew!”

And then the elf let out a horrible wail and banged his head against the wall. Potter yelled, “Stop it, Kreacher! I forbade you to punish yourself!”

Kreacher wailed even louder but stopped trying to cave his head in, dropping onto his knees instead.

“Kreacher attacked a member of Mistress’s Pure-blood family! Kreacher deserves to have his head chopped off for that! Kreacher is a bad, bad elf! Master Harry must punish Kreacher most severely!”

“I won’t punish you for misreading the situation. And I explicitly forbid you from hurting yourself in any way.” Potter bent down and pulled Draco up by his arms. “Are you alright?”

Draco shook out his arms and legs and then stretched his back carefully. Everything seemed to be working like it should. “Yeah. Seems that, unlike a certain someone, _I_ can take a beating from an elf.”

This earned him a hard jab with Potter’s elbow, but also a relieved laugh. “You only flew a few feet. I was thrown _much_ farther.”

“Only you would make a competition out of this,” Draco said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And now _please_ tell me your house-elf doesn’t live in this old, rotting house.”

“Now that you say it … Kreacher, what _are_ you doing here? I thought I sent you to work at Hogwarts.”

“Master Harry promised that Kreacher could come back to the house if Master Harry ever did so himself. And Kreacher waited years and years, and Master Harry never returned. But now Master Harry is here, so here Kreacher is too.”

“I haven’t come back, Kreacher,” Potter said bluntly. “I just took a wrong exit. I’m not staying here, so you can go back to the school.”

Draco thought it would have been kinder had Potter just beheaded the elf straightaway. Kreacher was close to tears, his tiny hands fisted into his toga with the Hogwarts crest on it. His mouth was opening and closing but no sound came out and Draco was rather certain that, at some point, Potter had forbidden the elf from arguing about this.

“Just go back, Kreacher. And you don’t need to constantly wait for me to return, just go back to Hogwarts. It’s your home; you’ve been there for the last six years.”

Though Draco was by no means an expert on house-elves, he still knew that Potter was a moron, who had no idea how regular house-elves worked. Next he would offer Kreacher a change of new clothes or something equally barmy. As it was, Kreacher’s lower lip was trembling dangerously.

“Kreacher’s home will always be this house, where he served the most noble House of Black, Master Harry. And Master _promised_ Kreacher that he could come back one day.”

“ _If_ I ever decided to come back myself. But you really shouldn’t hold your breath, Kreacher. I’ll call for you if it ever comes to that.”

 _‘Don’t owl us, we’ll owl you?’_ Had Potter really just used that line? That was worse than saying _‘It’s not you, it’s me’_. No wonder Kreacher looked to be about five seconds away from a stroke.

“Look,” Potter continued, looking down at the trembling elf. “This is not about something you _did_. Your work is really great. I just need to be away from the house for some time.”

And _there_ it was. Draco groaned in frustration. Potter really was using every cheap phrase he could think of. He was about as subtle as a Bludger to the face. Kreacher was wringing his hands now, his eyes flitting across the dark, dusty room, probably trying to take in as much as possible in what little time he had.

“Let me,” Draco said resolutely, pushing Potter out of the way.

He drew himself to full height in front of Kreacher. It was important to assert one’s authority. Draco didn’t miss the way Potter’s hand twitched at his sides, as if he didn’t trust Draco to talk to his elf in an acceptable manner. _Prick_.

“Kreacher, Potter has a task for you.” This got Kreacher’s full attention. “You see, I’m a Healer. Potter has been feeling under the weather for a while now and he needs some time away from this house to get better. Even _thinking_ about it would be a burden. So, the best thing you could do to help him would be to go to Hogwarts and do your job and _not_ harass him about coming back here before he’s ready. Think you can do that?”

Kreacher was not enthusiastic about this, but at least he stopped trembling. Draco glanced at Potter, who was biting his lip and ruffling his hair. He guessed that Potter had never told Kreacher _why_ staying away was important to him. He had probably resorted to stating _‘Because I say so’_ and thought that would be enough.

Well, every house-elf needed to feel useful, so you’d better tell them what use there was in their obedience if they didn’t particularly want to do what you asked of them. Provided you were like Potter and _cared_ about their feelings, of course. If you _didn’t_ ... well then you were fine just barking orders.

Kreacher was still trying to take in the room. His eyes came to rest on an impressively large collection of cobwebs, and when he started to shuffle his feet nervously, a cloud of dust rose from the musty carpet. Draco tried not to think too much about how he had just been lying there, only a layer of clothes separating him from _that_.

To think that this was the home of his Pure-blood ancestors, part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. A disgrace was what it was.

Draco grabbed Potter’s arm and pulled him to the side, out of Kreacher’s earshot. “ _Why_ don’t you let him come back here now and then? He could tidy up, make –”

“No.” Potter cut him off rudely, jerking his arm away. “I don’t want anyone in here.”

“Come on, this house is derelict. It won’t improve on its own, it’s only getting worse.”

“I said no.” Potter crossed his arms, glaring at Draco. Draco crossed his arms and glared back. After all, two could play at this game.

“Alright. Why?” Draco demanded to know. He was no house-elf and reasons were not optional with him.

“That’s none of your business,” Potter snarled.

“Maybe not. But if you won’t tell me, I’ll have to assume you’re just a childish, immature prick, who likes to torture his house-elf just because he can.”

“It’s not _torture_! Are you mental?”

“It is psychological torture,” Draco countered. “You are forbidding him from properly serving his master. You are keeping him from his home, where countless of his ancestors served the Blacks before him, I’d imagine. How would _you_ like it if somebody took over your childhood home and let it go to ruin while you had to stand by and watch?”

“Stand by? I’d _happily_ help wreck it.” Potter laughed humourlessly. “That house was a prison, as was this one. Sirius hated it. He’d have burned it to the ground if he could have.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. This came as a surprise, but still he felt like he could relate, even if he usually tried to avoid thoughts about the Manor. He had loved it, once – before the Dark Lord came and turned the cellar into a dungeon, the dining room into a torture chamber and Draco’s room, which had once been his safe haven, into his own prison. The Manor was not his home anymore and he did not intend to ever go back there.

“Then sell it,” Draco suggested, raising his brow. “You clearly don’t want to keep it, so why hang on to it?”

Potter looked up at the ceiling, a pained expression on his face. “I can’t,” he said shortly.

Draco rolled his eyes so hard he would not have been surprised if they left his head. “Would you please just talk to me like a normal person? Why do I have to worm everything out of you?”

“ _Because_ – as I already told you – this is none of your business!”

“Oh please! You just told Samantha that we were friends! Well, I’ve got news for you: Friends help each other! You’ve clearly got a problem and I want to help you work it out. You have so many idiosyncrasies, they’re not even quirky anymore! It’s just bloody annoying!”

And then everything seemed to burst out of Potter at once. “I can’t _sell it_ because the house was compromised! Yaxley got in! They know about it! What if I sell it and somebody moves in and one day _they_ come, looking for me? What if somebody gets _killed_ because a Death Eater wants to finally finish me off, and some poor family is just in the wrong place at the wrong time? It’s not safe for anyone!”

Potter was panting, more out of breath than even after a Quidditch match. His hands were constantly opening and closing and Draco could see where his nails dug into the flesh.

Draco didn’t know what to do. He was sure Potter would deck him if Draco told him to _‘get a grip, the war has been over for six years’_. It was clearly not over for him, not really. Six years later and Harry was still running, still hiding, still trying to save all of them.

“ _That’s_ why you live right across the street,” Draco suddenly realised. “To keep watch. So you’ll see when somebody goes in. Is that the reason for all those fucking windows too?”

Potter avoided his eyes, staring over Draco’s shoulder and out of the window instead. Draco followed his gaze and there it was – number twenty-two, Grimmauld Place. From the outside, there were no windows. The building seemed to be made from solid stone alone, safe for the front door.

Draco looked back at Harry, who seemed lost in here, like this really was a prison to him. Draco thought this was one of those moments during which normal, functioning people would hug, but there really was no way for him to know. He could just as well run the risk of getting punched for trying.

Harry didn’t answer his question and Draco didn’t press. After a few seconds, Harry at least looked at him. His eyes were pleading and Draco decided that Harry couldn’t possibly hurt him for trying to pat his arms, so that was what he did.

For a moment, Harry just stared at him, and then, through what only could have been divine intervention, he stepped closer and put his arms around Draco, hugging him close. They had hugged before, but this was different, somehow even more intimate than embracing one another in Harry’s bed.

Harry was upset and confused and frightened, and Draco didn’t think this had anything to do with the Confounding Concoction. This had been a long time coming.

Draco began stroking Harry’s back in soothing circles and felt him tremble underneath his hands, taking heaving breaths. He tried to let go to see if Harry was actually crying, but Harry just held him in a vice. Draco patted his back helplessly. Why was he so useless at this?

“What can I do?” he asked because he couldn’t take the silence any longer.

Harry detached one arm from Draco and wiped at his face roughly before letting go of him completely.

“If there was something to be done, I’d have done it already,” he croaked, clearing his throat self-consciously. “I’ve got this god-awful house that just screams death, absolutely no privacy whatsoever and now somebody _poisoned_ me. Honestly, you should probably turn tail and distance yourself from me as much as you can.”

“That’s the opposite of what I want to do,” Draco stated boldly, taking Harry’s left hand in his right. “Let’s start with making this shack look less like death, shall we?”

“I already told you, it’s dangerous!” Harry narrowed his eyes at him but squeezed his hand at the same time. The other hand he used to mess up his hair. Not that it was necessary after tumbling out of the fireplace and all over that nasty carpet.

“I like to live dangerously.” Draco gave him a small smile and then turned to the elf. “Kreacher, you knew when Harry came back here, right?”

Kreacher nodded, straightening his toga nervously. “Yes, Master Draco. Kreacher is bound to this house. Kreacher sensed Master Harry entering.”

“And if somebody else enters, you sense that as well.” It wasn’t a question. The house-elves had _always_ known as soon as somebody had approached the Manor.

Kreacher nodded again. “Kreacher _always_ knows, Master Draco.”

“So, you could come here, let’s say once a week, tidy up, and if you _ever_ sensed somebody come in, you could just vanish and warn Harry?”

Kreacher nodded so fast his ears were slapping against his shoulders repeatedly. He didn’t seem to mind at all, looking up at Harry hopefully.

“I don’t know ...” Harry said hesitantly.

“What is it now?” Draco sighed. “You can’t possibly want this rundown dump to stay like this.”

And there it was again – Harry raked a hand through his hair. His other hand twitched in Draco’s. Draco waited for him to speak. Sometimes silence was a much stronger incentive than words, and Harry definitely could not stand silence. It took only a few seconds for him to break.

“It’s just ... his things are still here. I haven’t gotten around to looking them through.”

“Kreacher, could you just tidy up and clean without throwing anything away?”

Kreacher bowed so deeply that his ears brushed the floor. “Kreacher would never dispose of anything that belonged to my mistress’s family, Master Draco. Kreacher values the possessions of House Black more than his own life.”

“There you go,” Draco said, satisfied.

Harry sighed and let go of his hand, turning to face Kreacher. “Alright. Kreacher, I want you to come here every Sunday to clean. Take a break every three hours _at least_. Under no circumstances can you throw anything away, understood? And if you sense anyone in here, you come directly to me and tell me.”

“Yes, Master Harry. Kreacher won’t disappoint,” the elf croaked gleefully. Harry waved his hand and with a _CRACK_ Kreacher vanished. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Won’t you give me a tour? I’ve been _dying_ to see this place,” Draco protested.

“Not a chance in the world, Malfoy.” Harry grabbed his wrist and – without even warning him first, which would have been the polite thing to do – twisted.

They reappeared inside Harry’s kitchen, which was, like always, spotless. Harry had made him clean up before they went to visit the Granger-Weasleys.

“Merlin’s beard, Potter. You can’t just grab somebody and Apparate them wherever. Do you want to have your license revoked?”

Harry grinned at him. “That’s cute. You think I have a license.”

Draco wrenched his wrist out of Harry’s grip. “You don’t have a license? You are twenty-four years old! Do you mean to tell me the risk of you Splinching us were not ten but more like thirty percent?”

“Hey!” Harry protested, crossing his arms. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent Apparater. The odds of getting Splinched were never even ten percent. I never Splinched _anyone_!” Harry trailed off there, brushing a strand of curly hair out of his face before shaking his head and squaring his shoulders. “And I couldn’t exactly take my test with a ministry official when I turned seventeen, could I now?”

“What was that?” Draco prompted, narrowing his eyes. “You _did_ Splinch someone!”

“No, I did not!” Harry insisted. “Ron got Splinched back then, when we were on the run, after the Ministry ... But _Hermione_ Apparated us, not me. And that was when she already had a license, by the way.”

Draco made a mental note never to Apparate with Granger, not that the occasion was likely to arise. He was quite attached to all his body parts and would like to keep it that way.

“After the Ministry? You don’t mean after what happened at the Department of Mysteries, right?” Draco knew for a fact that Granger had not had a license then. None of them had been seventeen.

Something moved to Draco’s right and they both jumped. Harry shook out his right hand, the side where he usually kept his wand up in his sleeve. It wasn’t there, of course, as Draco still had it.

Harry needn’t have panicked – perched upon the open window sat Odysseus, Coach Greyson’s ruddy owl.

“Jesus Christ,” Harry said, pressing a hand to his heart. Draco’s own heart was hammering as well. “He must have been here since we got in. I didn’t even see him there.”

“Me neither,” Draco grumbled. “Probably did it on purpose.”

“Why would he?” Harry asked, crossing the kitchen to relieve the owl of its letter.

Draco glared at Odysseus while Harry remained completely unbitten. “That creature has it out for me, I’m telling you.”

“You must have offended him,” Harry said, grinning. Draco assumed that he was enjoying this immensely.

Draco thought back to how he had tried to keep Odysseus from entering Harry’s hospital room and failed miserably. But they had already been declared enemies then. “I did no such thing. I even brought owl biscuits just for that bloody thing.”

Harry opened his letter, chuckling. “See, maybe that’s the problem. Odysseus only eats human food. I tried to feed him one of Emerald’s mice once. No dice.”

“Abnormal is what it is,” Draco muttered. “Want me to read that to you?”

But Harry’s eyes were already flying over the paper effortlessly. Now Draco was grinning as well. “Hey, you’re not illiterate anymore! Well, at least no more than usual.”

Harry made a very rude gesture, but he was still grinning. “Does that mean I can play Seeker next week?”

Draco just laughed. “Don’t get your hopes up. Patil said you need another two weeks and I am _definitely_ not clearing you despite that.”

The grin fell from Harry’s face. “Matt won’t be happy. He really, _really_ wants me to play. And I am fine, see?” Harry stretched his arms and raised one leg, balancing on one foot. “Also, I Apparated us here.”

“Illegally,” Draco added, pointing his finger at Harry, who put down his other foot again. “And without a _wand_ , now that I stop to think about it.”

Harry just shrugged, as if he Apparated without a wand all the time. Which, admittedly, he had also done when he had mentally scarred Draco for life by Apparating him to St. Mungo’s a few days ago.

“Now that you mention it, when do you plan on returning that to me?”

Draco sighed to show Harry what a terrible menace he was. “I’ll examine you tomorrow before I leave. If you do alright, you’ll get it back then. But I am _not_ changing my mind about the game. Patil is the expert, not me. Now let’s get back to Weasley getting Splinched after something at the Ministry. What were you _doing_ there?”

“One of the Ministry workers had something we needed to defeat Voldemort,” Harry grumbled, scribbling an answer on the back of his letter. “So we took Polyjuice and infiltrated the Ministry. Caused a lockdown in the end. That was also when Yaxley got into Grimmauld Place. Managed to grab Hermione. She was brilliant, really.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “What is _brilliant_ about getting caught and Splinching a friend?”

Harry glared at him and Draco actually took an involuntary step back. Merlin, that man was so _touchy_ when it came to his friends.

“She managed to throw him off and Apparate us out of there in under a second.”

Draco nodded. Yes, that actually didn’t sound half bad. “How dead would you be if it had not been for Granger?”

“Like, at least three hundred percent. I can’t even remember how many times she saved all our lives.”

“So, what you are saying is ... Granger is the one who should have a national holiday dedicated to her?”

“She definitely deserves it more than me,” Harry grumbled.

“Not a fan of the _Chosen Day_?”

“They _don’t_ call it that,” Harry protested.

“Some of them do,” Draco replied. “Though I don’t think it was ever confirmed you _are_ the _‘Chosen One’_ , since you smashed that prophecy.”

“Well, even if I had been, which I’m _not_ saying is true, I would certainly not be that anymore.” Harry busied himself with tying the letter back to Odysseus’ leg. “Voldemort is dead, so there is nothing I could still be chosen _for_. People should really stop calling me that.”

“What do you _want_ them to call you?”

Harry was finished with the letter, but the owl did not show the slightest inclination to leave, even when Harry gestured to the still-open window. “I don’t want them to call me anything. My name, if they absolutely have to.”

“‘ _The boy who lived’_?” Draco offered, earning himself a glare.

“Do you still think of me as a boy?” Harry asked, but he continued his complaints before Draco could assure him that he most definitely was not a scrawny little boy anymore. He was still shorter than average and a lightweight, but he clearly worked out a lot and it was showing. “Also, what kind of accomplishment is _living_? All you have to do is not die, every living person could bear that title.”

“Only the male half of them,” Draco countered. “And you know what they mean by that. You didn’t just live, you _survived_. No one has ever done that before or since.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not that big a deal and I don’t like to be reminded.”

Draco pondered this for a few seconds. “ _‘The Golden Boy’_ , maybe?”

Harry gagged and nudged Odysseus with his quill. “Go on, take that letter to Matt.”

Draco took that as a decided ‘No’. “What about _‘the Saviour’_ , then?”

“Do I look like Jesus Christ?” Harry scoffed, ruffling his hair while the owl kept staring at him.

“I wouldn’t know, I have never seen him,” Draco answered. “Who _is_ he, anyway? People keep saying his name. _Muggles_ too.”

“He’s the son of God, who died for our sins,” Harry explained, still trying to animate Odysseus. “He’s also the reason we have Christmas and Easter.”

“God died for our sins?” Draco asked, confused.

From what he had gathered, God couldn’t die. Also, who would’ve thought that there was a ‘real’ explanation for those holidays? Draco had always thought those two were just as made up as Valentine’s Day or Halloween.

“No, Jesus did. And then he came back from the dead and they started a religion, because that’s what Muggles do.”

“Wow, he really went all in. Guess I can see the parallels, but at least you didn’t have to die for us. Just imagine what a hassle that would’ve been.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, turning his back on him. He waved his hands at the owl, trying to shoo it away. “Get lost, Ody.”

“How _did_ you survive that curse the second time around?” Draco asked eagerly.

He had always wondered, but Harry had forever avoided that question, even during Mother’s trial. All _she_ had told Draco was that Harry had walked into the forest all alone and unarmed, and that the Dark Lord had used _Avada Kedavra_ on him. Harry had dropped to the ground, seemingly dead, but when she went over to feel for his pulse, she had found it.

Had Harry faked it? But how? There was no counter-spell, no way to avoid the curse. And stranger still: The Dark Lord had been thrown to the ground as well. There simply was no explanation and it was driving Draco mad.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry snapped, and then he grabbed the owl and threw it out the window, which he closed with a bang.

“Now that thing definitely hates _you_ too,” Draco said drily. He couldn’t with a clear conscience say that he felt sorry for it. “It will probably start calling you _‘Undesirable Number One’_.”

“Odysseus won’t call me anything, he’s an _owl_.”

“Not out loud, maybe. But in his head? Who knows how much these animals understand? Enough to follow instructions, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think Pig understands much of what I tell him. He delivers, but that’s about it.”

“About that ...” Draco raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with your owl? It’s miniscule. And it does _not_ resemble a pig at all.”

Harry crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “His name is Pigwidgeon. Sirius bought him two years before ... well.”

“ _Pigwidgeon?_ ” Draco raised the remaining eyebrow, trying to steer the conversation away from Harry’s dead godfather. “I really hope you are not planning on having children, because you are the _worst_ at naming animals.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched. “Ginny chose that name. And I’ll have you know that Emerald is a perfectly reasonable name, thank you very much. _Aurelius,_ on the other hand ...”

Draco inhaled in mock-shock. “What’s wrong with _that?_ ”

“Absolutely pretentious. Only a posh git like you could ever come up with that.” Harry pushed away from the counter, drawing nearer so he could take one of Draco’s hands. “You’re lucky I like that on you.”

Draco withdrew his hand, feeling queasy. “Don’t. You are still under the influence of that damned potion; it makes me feel like a fucking _predator._ ”

“Managed to Apparate us here, didn’t I?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

“Then don’t do this to me, _again_. We kiss and then you backtrack. It’s rather cruel, honestly.” Harry looked really hurt, and when he crossed his arms, it looked more like he was hugging himself.

“I’m not _backtracking_ ,” Draco protested. “I didn’t even know I was turning you down the first time! You were the one who ran off after _jumping_ me! And I’m assuming you had a _reason._ One that could also apply in this situation.”

“I did have a reason!” Harry messed up his hair again and, now that Draco was close enough, he could see the dust that swirled up. “I felt guilty because you didn’t know it was me. I thought you probably didn’t like me like that and I didn’t want to trick you into snogging me.”

“And how am I to know that really was the reason? This could just as well be the potion speaking.”

“Well, it’s not! Come on, I’m sick of pining after you. We are not teenagers anymore; this is getting downright ridiculous.”

Draco felt like caving – Harry had really _pined_? The thought of just throwing caution to the wind was tantalising, especially after what had just happened at the Black house. But Draco was still a Malfoy, and if he could do one thing, it was ignore his emotions in favour of keeping a level head.

“The answer is no. I want to do this right or not at all. We can talk in two weeks _if_ Patil says you are yourself again.”

Draco turned on the spot and went upstairs, deciding to call it a night. Tomorrow he would examine Harry, give back his wand and then avoid him for the next two weeks. He could do this. He had already put his New Year’s resolution on hold for one week – he could manage two more.


	29. Bad Medicine [Sunday, January 16th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to my commenters: chinykawaii, Fan, ZanyNY, AilurusMel, Evierosie02, Aeimnestos, serilla, illindalenti, night, ThatBoringOne, WildvanillaRose and Amber Rose!  
> Glad you guys thought it was alright 😉 Also: poor Harry, you guys sure like to see him suffer. Which I don’t. Like, at _all_. I’m being, like, _so_ serious right now.  
> Also: no worries, this fic will 100 % get finished. I can promise, because I already wrote all of it! All I’m still doing right now is beta-reading. 😊  
> So, I feel like this thing should have a _lot_ more Quidditch in it, don’t you? 🤔

Draco didn’t particularly like children. They were loud and more often than not, they had sticky hands. Also, Draco had no idea how to talk to them. In Pure-blood circles, this was never an issue. Children were taught to be neither seen nor heard, to speak only when spoken to, to be polite and reserved. The children Draco encountered in emergency healing at St. Mungo’s ... not so much. But the worst thing about injured children were their parents. They were hysterical, unreasonable and sometimes downright hostile.

Draco hated parents, and he hated the Swans most of all. Destiny Swan, ten years of age, had hijacked her father’s broom and broken a leg in the process. Draco was of the opinion that behaviour such as that called for punishment. The Swans seemed to think that Destiny’s ‘ _ordeal’_ (Draco had healed her leg in under a minute, but still the Swans refused to leave until more tests were done) entitled her to do whatever she pleased.

So Destiny had brought her entire collection of Quidditch action figures, which were now flying all over the trauma ward. Draco had tried to tell her parents that the Healers needed to concentrate on saving lives, but all he had gotten in return were unimpressed shrugs.

What Destiny had also thought essential to her trip to St. Mungo’s was a wireless, dialled up as far as it would go. Whenever Draco pointed his wand at it to turn it down, the volume seemed to increase even more. Destiny Swan was one bratty child and her magic acted accordingly.

“Mr. and Mrs. Swan!” Draco yelled over the music in yet another attempt at making them see reason. “You have to leave! You are inconveniencing everybody around you! There is literally no reason to stay here, your daughter is fine!”

“Huh?!” Mr. Swan yelled back, putting a hand to his ear.

“We are _not_ leaving!” Mrs. Swan (whose hearing was apparently not yet as damaged as her husband’s) yelled, crossing her arms. “We insist on at least _three_ more tests!”

Draco did not know how Mrs. Swan had arrived at that particular number. He only knew she was a downright bitch and that he hated her and her spawn. The other patients seemed to agree – the ones that were conscious were staring daggers at the family. Draco closed the curtains around Destiny’s bed and charmed them so they would keep the noise in. He pointed at Mr. Swan and then to the curtains, beckoning him to follow.

They stepped outside, where the silence was almost as deafening as the noise had been. Not that it was really silent – Trauma never was. It just felt that way to Draco.

“Mr. Swan, your daughter is in perfect health. I looked her over and there is nothing wrong with her.” Well, at least not physically. _Mentally,_ Draco wasn’t so sure.

“We don’t want to take any chances,” Mr. Swan said stubbornly. “She’s our only child.”

“You don’t say,” Draco said drily. “Well, you are wasting time I could use to help people who really need it. You are being unreasonable and _unbelievably_ selfish. I am not doing one more test.”

“ _Fine._ I want to talk to your supervisor,” Mr. Swan said, crossing his arms in a perfect imitation of his wife.

“ _Fine,_ ” Draco repeated, completely unimpressed. “But in the meantime, tell your child to turn it off.”

“You don’t want to see her if she misses the broadcast,” Mr. Swan said, throwing open the curtains. The sudden rise in noise felt like a punch to the eardrums.

_“This is Joseph Earhart live from the Yorkshire Arena. Puddlemere United is playing the Falmouth Falcons, and both teams have seen better days. Puddlemere’s Andrews is down with a rather nasty fracture of both arms, the Falcons’ Captain, Leona Robinson, sustained a serious concussion just yesterday, and, as you all know, Potter is still out as well! Bookies estimate that Puddlemere has a seventy-two percent chance at winning today. We’ll see how this match plays out. And here they are. Ashdown, Pierpont, Avington, Pearson, Turner, Lockeridge and Grant. That’s Puddlemere United for you. They are circling the pitch now, every single one of them flying a brand-new Firebolt Gold.”_

Draco grabbed the curtains, determined to slam them shut if he could manage to pull that off. And then he would take his sweet time searching for Meadows. If the Swans wanted to waste their Sunday morning here, Draco wouldn’t stop them.

_“And here come the Falcons! Haynes, Sax, Mason, Armstrong, Montgomery, Mills and – Merlin’s beard!”_

Draco froze on the spot, both hands still clutching the curtains while his stomach dropped. This couldn’t possibly be good news.

_“It’s Harry Potter, ladies and gentle-wizards! This is completely unexpected; we were told that Potter wouldn’t return for another week at least. Coach Greyson definitely seems happy about this, I would say – unlike McCarthy. Potter’s reserve is definitely disappointed. Oh boy, that is not a good look on her.”_

Draco turned on the spot and ran. Who in their right mind would clear Harry already? Patil never would have agreed to this.

“I have an emergency!” Draco barked at the Welcome Witch, throwing his chart on her desk. “Get Nash to cover for me!”

~o~

Draco Disapparated as soon as he reached the corner of the street outside Mungo’s, reappearing in front of the arena. He’d been thirteen years old the last time he had been here, but he still remembered where the entrance for important (and in the Malfoys’ case: rich) witches and wizards was. He made a dash for the stairs and was immediately thrown back by an invisible shield.

“You are not authorised to access this area.” An usher in orange robes stepped out from beside the stands, looking him up and down.

“I need to go up there,” Draco urged him. “I’m a friend of Harry Potter’s.”

The usher raised his eyebrows in clear disbelief. “Sure, and I am friends with Celestina Warbeck.”

“My condolences,” Draco said, stuffing a hand inside his pocket to fish for his wand. “Now let me through, this is a matter of life and death.”

“I don’t think so.” The usher scoffed. “And I’d advise you to leave before I call security.”

Draco was shaking from anger. Some idiot had allowed Harry to play. Harry was in danger, even more so because he was stupidly overconfident. And this fucking _prick_ was into power games. Draco drew his wand, pointing it at his opponent’s chest. “I won’t ask a third time.”

There was the crack of an Apparition and before he could even turn around, somebody grabbed his arm. “Draco! What are you _doing_?”

Draco looked over his shoulder at Samantha Huxley, her bright pink hair dripping wet. He lowered his wand in relief.

“Samantha, thank Merlin! I need to go up there. I think Potter is in danger.”

The grip on his arm intensified and then she was pulling him through the wards and up the stairs, without so much as a look back. “So, you _didn’t_ clear him?”

“Am I mental? The potion could still be lingering. There’s no way in hell I’d let him even near a broom right now.”

They came out at the top of what seemed to be the press stands. Some of the wizards were dictating to their Quick-Quotes-Quills, others were taking pictures. At the end of the bench, Draco spotted Earhart, who was speaking into a mouthpiece. The match was already in full swing and the Falcons were leading 40 – 10. Draco spotted Harry almost instantly, hovering several feet above where the action was taking place.

“He seems fine,” Samantha said, relief clear in her voice.

“He does now, but you can never know for sure. His condition could shift in an instant. Do you think you can get Greyson to pull him from the match?”

Samantha shot him a look that said she thought he was mental. “Never in a million years. Once the game starts, you can’t exchange any of the players. Matt won’t just dismiss their Seeker; they could just as well give up.”

“That man is a selfish idiot,” Draco pressed out. He searched the pitch for an idea, anything that would get Harry out of the air. He found Dayal instead, apparently in a heated discussion with Felicity McCarthy.

Samantha grabbed his arm suddenly and Draco looked up to watch Harry narrowly escaping a Bludger. After that, he vacated his hovering position in favour of circling the pitch. Maybe it really was going to be alright. Draco grabbed the railing and took to watching Harry like a hawk, searching for signs of complications.

Over the next half hour, the Falcons scored three and Puddlemere four more goals, Harry tricked Grant, his opposing Seeker, into barrelling into the stands, and Phaedra Armstrong was heavily favouring her left side after having taken a Bludger to the side and refusing to be healed.

And suddenly, Harry was speeding up, zigzagging through a crowd of Chasers, eyes fixed on the Snitch. He was only a few feet away when a Bludger appeared to his left, shooting right at him. Harry’s head whipped around, but instead of swerving to his right or even up or down, he made a left, barrelling directly into it.

There was a sickening noise as Harry was thrown off his broom. People screamed, cameras flashed, and though Draco’s stomach turned violently, he managed to grip his wand tight and point it right at Harry, not even sure what he was casting, only knowing he had to do _something_.

Harry was falling, but the nearer the pitch came, the slower he fell, and when he reached the ground, it didn’t even make a sound. Harry landed on his knees, cradling his left arm to his side and looking up at Draco. Dayal was running towards him now, and Samantha crushed Draco to her chest.

“You _saved_ him!” she yelled over the noise of the crowd.

Draco was still looking down at Harry, who had just noticed Dayal approaching. His face contorted, not in pain, but in anger. Draco pushed Samantha away.

“We should get down there, now,” Draco urged, ignoring the press representatives that were now taking his picture and bombarding him with questions.

“Don’t worry, there’s already somebody there to heal him,” Samantha reassured him.

“ _That’s_ what’s worrying me!” Draco said.

And that was the moment Harry broke Dayal’s nose. The referee blew his whistle then, the sound of it startling them from their stupor. The players descended, Harry’s team grouping some feet behind him.

“Oh shit,” Samantha said tonelessly. “Oh, this is a PR _nightmare_!”

Together they squeezed through the crowd of press people that were hounding them, trying to get a statement from Harry’s spokes-witch. Samantha only kept repeating “No comment!” while Draco dragged her towards the exit, glaring at everybody who got in their way. A security wizard spotted them when they came out at the bottom (Samantha with her all-access-badge and Draco in his blue Healer’s scrubs) and let them onto the pitch.

The action was taking place in the middle of the pitch. Easton Haynes (the Falcons’ broad, muscular Beater) was holding Harry back with one enormous hand on his right shoulder. He was taller than Harry by at least a head, and certainly twice as heavy, but Harry was putting up a fight, clenching his teeth whenever he moved his broken left arm too much.

“Let go, Easy!” he growled. “I’m not done with him yet!”

Harry practically ripped off his right glove, then put the hand in the insides of his robes and whipped out his wand. There was a crackle and Haynes snatched his hand away, shaking it out as if he had been shocked. Several people rushed forward, shouting Harry’s name. The referee blew his whistle again, but nobody took notice. Greyson stepped up beside Dayal, raising a hand in Harry’s direction.

“Harry, don’t! Do you _want_ to get suspended?”

“If that’s what it takes, fine by me!”

“Stop it, Harry!” _–_ “Harry, no!” _–_ “Don’t do it, man.” _–_ “Harry!”

Everybody was yelling over each other and Harry was listening to none of them. The grip on his wand tightened, his eyes narrowed, and Draco was sure that he was thinking about which hex to use.

“ _Potter!_ ” Draco barked, finally reaching the group. Harry’s eyes were on him in an instant and his wand sagged a few inches. “What are you, fourteen? At least _try_ to have some dignity.”

Harry stared at him for a few seconds and then stuffed his wand back into his robes. The whole group seemed to exhale collectively. Dayal felt his face, which was bruising already.

“You are _so_ fired!” Harry growled, clutching his broken arm again.

“You can’t fire me,” Dayal shot back, as pale as his Indian skin could get.

“You really can’t, Harry,” Greyson agreed. “He still works for St. Mungo’s. And I’m the one who’s requesting him for our matches.”

“So, you’ll un-request him, then?” Harry asked grimly.

Greyson shook his head. “Hasan is just doing his job. Try to be reasonable, Harry.”

“He’s doing a piss-poor job!” The knuckles on Harry’s right hand were white from being clenched so much, and bleeding from contact with Dayal’s face. “If Malfoy hadn’t been there that day, I would have _died_ back in August. Did you forget that?”

“There is nothing to forget,” Greyson said, huffing in exasperation. “You had an accident and Hasan did what he could. I’m sure he would have saved you in the end, even if Healer Malfoy had not been there.”

“So, you’ll keep him on as Team Healer?” Harry demanded to know, grinding his teeth.

Greyson nodded, crossing his arms. “I’m Coach, I decide what is best for this team. And that’s keeping him.”

“Fine,” Harry said drily, “ _I_ _quit_.”

There was an immediate uproar. Samantha grabbed Draco’s arm. The Falcons closed ranks, all of them shouting at Greyson at once. Draco wasn’t sure if this had been Harry’s intention, but he was certain how this would play out. Greyson looked like he was the one who had taken that Bludger. He was ghostly pale and sweating, panic written all over his face.

“Shut up!” he bellowed, stomping his foot for good measure. “Harry is definitely _not_ quitting.” He looked at Dayal with something like regret in his eyes. “Hasan, I’m sorry. Meet me after the match, will you?”

Dayal ground his teeth and, with one loathing look at Harry, stomped away. If Harry ever got poisoned again, he would definitely need to add Dayal to his list of enemies.

“You’ve got what you wanted,” Greyson said, fixing Harry with a hard look. “Would you _please_ catch that damn Snitch now?”

It was so absurd; Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “I think not, Greyson. Technically, I was first at the scene, which makes Potter my patient. He’s definitely not going back up there today.”

“Fine,” Greyson ground out, fists clenched at his side. “The rest of you, back in the air. Now.”

“Alright guys, payback time!” Leona Robinson stepped forward. “Flo, I don’t want to see Puddlemere score one more goal. Phae, Lauryn, Flynn … give them hell. We’re seventy points ahead, that means we need another ninety. Easy, we’re going after Grant. Keep her from getting anywhere near the Snitch until we’re at least 160 points ahead. After that, smash their Chasers. They’ll probably be desperate to end the match by then.”

“ _Told_ you he wasn’t ready.” McCarthy appeared next to Greyson, grinning at Harry nastily.

Draco wasn’t sure what she was so happy about, as her team couldn’t send in a reserve player after the match had started, which meant that the Falcons were pretty much fucked. But Draco _could_ sense a hex when it was coming. He grabbed Harry’s right wrist before he could draw his wand again.

“Come on, let’s have a look at your arm.”

Harry grumbled, but didn’t resist when Draco began dragging him away. Samantha had a few hushed words with Greyson and then followed after them. Draco ordered Harry to sit on a bench and checked him for damages.

“What were you thinking?!” Samantha placed both hands on her hips. “You can’t just beat up a _Healer_. In front of the press, no less!”

“He had it coming,” Harry hissed. “I don’t know what his agenda is, but it certainly isn’t my well-being.”

“Your elbow bone and radial bone are both broken in several places.”

“And what did he do to give you that impression?”

“He cleared me for the game. Padma wouldn’t and clearly Malfoy would have laughed in my face, but Dayal agreed. In fact, he told me _two_ _weeks_ ago. That we would somehow manage to get me to play.”

“Three of your ribs are also broken. And I’ll have to reset your shoulder.”

“You didn’t even tell me!” Samantha cried out, brushing away a damp strand of hair that was clinging to her cheek. “There I was, taking a bath, listening to the wireless. Do you have any idea how much bath foam I inhaled?”

“ _Costas emendo!_ ”

“ _Ouch,_ fuck! What the hell, Malfoy?”

“Shut up and take it like a man,” Draco shot back, raising his eyebrows. “That’s what you get for disregarding every _single_ medical advice actually sane people gave you.”

Harry punched his arm without any force behind it. “I felt fine and Matt _really_ wanted me to play. Did you think I would just _give_ this one to McCarthy?”

“I thought you were not quite as reckless anymore. Guess I overestimated you. You are still the same idiot who flew a car to school when you were twelve,” Draco replied, disappointment tangible in his voice. “ _Ulnam emendo. Radium emendo_.”

Harry gritted his teeth and didn’t complain again, probably not keen on another lecture. “I like to tell myself that you just _underestimated_ how much I _hate_ McCarthy.”

Draco frowned down at him. “Will they revoke your membership at the Heroes Club if you don’t have at least one nemesis at all times?”

“You betcha,” Harry agreed, grinning hesitantly. “And what a bummer that would be. Once a year there is a feast where we eat all the dragons and beasts we slew. And then there’s the raffle, of course. Jackpot is the most influential princess that was saved that year.”

“Naturally,” Draco said, unable to stop the grin that was spreading over his face. That bastard. “ _Integro!_ ”

Harry’s arm snapped back into its socket and the whole stadium got to hear his yell. A few cameras flashed and above them, the Falcons continued to go berserk.

“That’s another three weeks. No flying whatsoever, no heavy lifting, no _brawls_!”

Harry opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw the look on Draco’s face. Draco had enough of Harry’s shtick and he would not put up with it.

“Fine,” Harry mumbled, stretching his healed arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco looked up at the stands. People seemed indeed far more invested in Harry than the match they had actually paid to watch. Seeker Sophia Grant was desperately trying to evade the hailstorm of Bludgers Robinson and Haynes were shooting at her, and still Harry held their attention.

“Get your things, I’ll side-along you.”

Harry nodded and then made a dash for the changing rooms. Samantha sat down on Harry’s vacated seat and gestured to the space beside her. “Thanks for de-escalating back there. That could have been way worse.”

“That’s alright,” Draco said, looking up at the players. “I just couldn’t take another second of Potter completely embarrassing himself.”

“Sure,” Samantha said, grinning up at him. “That, and you _like_ him.”

“He’s alright,” Draco replied, trying for nonchalance. He did alright, if he could say so himself.

“ _Uh-uh._ ” Here grin was even broader now. “I guess he thinks you are alright too.”

“Oh, shut up,” Draco grumbled. “Know what your official statement will be?”

Samantha groaned, elbowing him in the ribs. “Thanks for reminding me. You are a _horrible_ person.”

“Yes, that’s what I strive for. Just tell them it was the Confounding Concoction. He was cleared prematurely, which caused the accident. And he didn’t know what he was doing when he hit that wanker.”

“Yeah ... that could actually work. Great angle, Draco.”

“Always happy to help.”

They watched the match in companionable silence until Harry returned a few minutes later, bundled up in a coat, scarf and gloves. He had pulled a wool hat over his now-wet hair.

“Alright, let’s bail. Or is there something we need to discuss, Sam?”

Samantha shook her head, a lopsided grin on her face. “Draco helped me think of something. Just try to lay low for a while, will you?”

Harry put a gloved hand above his heart. “I promise to try.”

They left Samantha and the stadium behind. Draco offered his right arm to Harry. “Where to? Grimmauld Place, the Weasleys’?”

Harry took hold of his arm, a pensieve look on his face. “Do you want to go somewhere? I could buy you lunch. You know, for saving my life. Again.”

“You want to have lunch ... with me?”

“Yeah ... if you want to?” Harry tried to mess up his hair, but only ended up displacing his hat. Why was this so awkward? The two of them had already shared lunch lots of times. Draco had lived at his house, for crying out loud. They had made out just a week ago.

“I could eat,” he said, twisting on the spot.

~o~

They reappeared outside St. Mungo’s.

“You know I didn’t mean the _cafeteria_ when I said I’d buy you lunch?” Harry squeezed his arm for emphasis.

“No,” Draco said, smirking down at him, “It was entirely unclear.”

There was a _crack_ and a wizard appeared a few feet away, holding his left arm (which was not attached to his body) in his right hand. It didn’t seem to be a serious matter, since the wizard was neither bleeding nor in obvious pain as he set off towards the entrance, looking back at them curiously every few steps.

Draco supposed they did make an odd couple, Harry completely bundled up and Draco just in his thin, short-sleeved scrubs (under which he always wore a long-sleeved shirt, for obvious reasons). Harry let go of Draco’s arm almost immediately and threw on his Invisibility Cloak as soon as the wizard was out of sight.

“Afraid to be seen with me?” Draco asked, trying not to sound hurt.

And why should he be? He already _knew_ Harry was completely paranoid. This didn’t necessarily mean that Harry was ashamed of him. He had paraded him around at his New Year’s Party, after all. It was just hard to shake the feeling that people were constantly judging him.

Harry huffed, a mixture between laughter and exasperation. “Afraid to be seen on a date,” he explained. “I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships and the general public.”

Draco turned his face in Harry’s direction just slightly. “On a _date_?” he asked innocently. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry said bravely. “So, could we leave for somewhere _decent_ , now?”

Harry grabbed his arm again. Draco set off for St. Mungo’s before he could just whisk him away. Harry was the type of person who would do such a thing even _if_ he was possibly still under the influence of Confounding Concoction.

“We _can’t_ , because I have to check on Nash first. I’m technically still on the clock for another two hours.”

“Don’t tell me you just walked out because of me.” Harry’s voice was almost a growl and he gripped his arm even tighter.

“Well, somebody had to stop you from killing yourself ... again,” Draco answered lightly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He was not looking forward to facing Meadows. Even if the Head of Trauma was, overall, reasonable.

The Welcome Witch was the first to notice Draco. She scribbled something on her notepad and then looked up at him, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“There you are,” she harrumphed. “Cortez is expecting you in her office.”

Draco froze on the spot.

Valery Cortez was Chief of Healing at St. Mungo’s. She was _also_ a massive bitch. If it had been her call, Draco never would have been allowed to step so much as a toe into the hospital, much less start his training.

Fortunately for him, she had only been made Chief two years ago (and promptly banished the lime green robes in favour of multi-coloured scrubs that indicated your ward – the only thing Draco had to give her credit for).

Cortez had been trying to find a reason to fire him ever since then. Which was why Meadows usually didn’t tell on Draco, as long as he didn’t endanger any patients.

“Did she say what for?” Draco asked, trying for a casual tone. It _could_ be just a coincidence. Could be, right?

“What do you think?” the Welcome Witch drawled. Then she added, without any real compassion, “Good luck.”

Draco grimaced and made his way to the stairs. He could hear Harry’s footsteps beside him.

“I don’t think I will be able to make it to lunch,” Draco said tonelessly, trying to fight the sense of impending doom that was overtaking him. Abandoning his post was a pretty good reason to get fired. “You’d better take the Floo home.”

“What’s going on?” Harry said, “Who is Cortez? Are you in trouble?”

“Cortez is the hag who will kick me out, and I don’t particularly want you there when that happens.”

Losing his job was bad enough as it was.

What would he _do_ without work? Nowadays it was probably his sole purpose in life. Why should he even get up in the morning? How was he supposed to pay off his _mortgage_?

Well, Draco could always marry Greengrass and reclaim his place as Malfoy heir. There still was enough gold to last another three generations even after the reparations had been paid.

If only that option didn’t sound like prostitution to him.

Harry grabbed his arm, causing Draco to stumble on the stairs. “She can’t _fire_ you! You saved my life! That’s doing your job, right?”

“She doesn’t need a _strong_ reason to fire a Death Eater,” Draco replied sullenly. He pulled away his arm and continued to climb the stairs. “Any reason at all will suffice. Now leave. Please.”

“But she does not have any reason whatsoever!” Harry was still beside him, sounding scandalised. “Just tell her what happened and she’ll have to let you off the hook!”

“That only works if your name is Harry Potter,” Draco objected. “Sure as hell won’t work for me. If you would leave now, so I can pretend to still have some dignity while I am in there.”

They finally came out at the top floor. Chief Cortez stood in her open office door, her eyes narrowed at Draco. She tapped her foot impatiently.

“Inside, Mr. Malfoy,” she ordered.

Draco didn’t miss the omission of his title. Merlin, she’d probably make this her Patronus memory, the stupid bitch. That thought almost felt worse than getting fired would. Almost.

“Certainly, Chief Cortez,” Draco said, mustering every ounce of calmness he still possessed.

She turned around and went back into her office. Draco used the opportunity to ram his elbow into Harry’s side.

“ _Leave! I mean it,_ ” he hissed, hoping Cortez wouldn’t hear.

Instead, because Potter was a fucking hot-headed moron with a hero complex, he yanked off his Cloak and, before Draco could do more than groan, stomped into Cortez’ office. Draco hurried to follow and just managed to catch the look of complete shock on her face as she turned around.

“Chief Cortez! I am Harry Potter,” he announced quite unnecessarily.

All she could muster was an open-mouthed nod. If Draco’s career hadn’t been on the line, he would have enjoyed her unease immensely.

“How …?” She began, her voice barely a whisper. Potter’s sudden appearance seemed to have shaken her to the core. “Where …?”

Potter grabbed Draco, who was hovering on the threshold, and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him with a snap. Cortez used the moment to clear her throat and smooth down her skirt.

“What can I do for you, Mister Potter?” she asked, more confidently now. Her eyes lingered on Potter’s hand on Draco’s arm.

Potter let go of it then to brush away a lock of hair, almost incidentally exposing his scar in what Draco thought was an exceedingly Slytherin move.

Startling Draco just as much as Cortez, Potter said with total confidence, “I am here to request _Healer_ Malfoy as Team Healer for my Quidditch team, the Falmouth Falcons.”

“It is my impression that the position is already filled, Mr. Potter,” she replied, working very hard to not sound irritated.

“It _was_ ,” Potter said heatedly. “Until he almost got me killed today. Healer Malfoy heard that Healer Dayal cleared me prematurely and came to prevent what could have been a _lethal_ accident.”

There was panic in her eyes now, which Potter chose to ignore in favour of finishing his speech. “That’s why I want him for the team. I don’t trust anyone else to have our best interests at heart.”

Cortez didn’t look at all happy and Draco was sure that her mind was working fast, trying to find a way to avoid a possible lawsuit and still be able to fire Draco. Potter seemed to sense her hesitation.

“Unless, of course, you’d rather punish Healer Malfoy for saving my life. That’s up to you, really.” Potter crossed his arms as Draco shot him a confused glance.

Had Potter even thought about what he was going to say on his behalf? Knowing him, he had not.

“Healer Malfoy abandoned his duties at the hospital,” Cortez said finally, looking at him with the usual disdain. “He could have sent someone to come to your aid.”

“Certainly,” Potter agreed. “You _should_ fire him, then.”

Draco nearly pulled a muscle whipping his head around at Potter. What was the idiot playing at? _Merlin,_ was that the potion again? Draco should have petrified him as soon as he took off the Cloak.

“Although,” Potter continued before either of them could reply, “that would make for some very bad press, I’d imagine. You’ve got one infamous Healer on your hands already. He _did_ almost get me killed, after all. Do you really want to punish the incredibly _heroic_ Healer who prevented that? Who saved my life once before?”

Resentment was not a good look on Valery Cortez. She pursed her lips, glaring at Draco loathingly. The room was silent for several seconds while she tried to find a way out of this dilemma.

“Mr. Potter, I apologise on behalf of St. Mungo’s. Please be assured there will be an inquiry regarding Healer Dayal.” She turned to Draco then, bracing herself. “Healer Malfoy, report to Healer Meadows to work out your new schedule. Dismissed.”

“Have a very nice day,” Potter said, turning on the spot and walking out without waiting for a reply.

Draco, not exactly eager to be alone with her, followed suit.

He waited until they were back on the stairs to grab Potter’s arm and swing him around. Potter was grinning at him broadly, but the expression vanished from his face when he caught sight of Draco’s. Draco was fuming.

“I’m guessing you’re _not_ going to snog me senseless as thanks for saving your job?”

“I have half a mind to _sock_ you senseless!” Draco replied through gritted teeth. “Who in Merlin’s name gave you the right to do that?”

“I am Harry Potter,” the bastard dared to say, wrenching his arm out of Draco’s grip so he could cross both of them in front of his chest.

“Tell me you did _not_ just say that,” Draco groaned, massaging his temple.

“No! I meant –”

“Being Harry Potter is not an excuse to just do as you please!”

“But –”

“There are rules, for fuck’s sake!”

“Would you fucking let me –”

“You don’t speak for me; I am a fully-grown wizard!”

Potter shut him up by grabbing him by his scrubs and kissing him eagerly, but Draco was having none of it. He would say his mind if he damn well pleased!

So Draco did the only logical thing – he bit Potter’s lower lip. Potter yelped and pushed Draco away. He touched his lip while glaring at Draco.

“You will listen to what I’ve got to the say, fuck-head. Somebody’s got to take you down a notch.”

“Will you shut up and listen to _me_ for one second?” Potter yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Draco crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow to show that he was listening and couldn’t wait to hear the garbage Potter was about to spout.

“I didn’t mean it like _‘I’m Harry Potter, I do what I want’_. It’s just that you said reasoning with that bitch doesn’t work if your name is _not_ Harry Potter. And well ... that happens to be my name, doesn’t it?”

Draco grumbled unhappily. He should have expected a knee-jerk reaction like that – this was Potter, after all. Worse still, this line of thought almost made sense, in a Gryffindor-kind of way.

“Come on, Draco. I didn’t try to be condescending. I was just trying to pay you back for saving my life again.”

“Did you maybe consider that I don’t even _want_ to be Team Healer?” Draco inquired coldly. If Potter thought using his first name would win him some sympathy, he was dead wrong.

“ _Don’t_ you?” Potter asked, furrowing his brows. He looked like the thought had never occurred to him. Like the prospect of one day being Team Healer for the Falmouth Falcons was every child’s dream.

He wasn’t exactly _wrong_ , a small voice in the back of Draco’s head supplied. This was a real opportunity. And also a chance to see less of people like the Swans, who were just horrible excuses for human beings.

Draco groaned in frustration. “I _do_ ,” he admitted, disgruntled. A grin spread on Potter’s face and Draco hurried to erase it while he still could. “But that’s beside the point!”

“What _is_ the point, then?” Potter demanded, the corners of his mouth still twitching. “I am alive and you are not fired. In fact, you just got a promotion. One that will work wonders for your image, I might add.”

“The point is: You are neither your team’s coach nor the Captain. You don’t have the authority to request me as replacement for Dayal.”

“Don’t worry,” Potter said lightly. “Matt will play along if he wants to keep me. You’re the only Healer worth anything ‘round here. He doesn’t have a choice.”

“You are awfully confident,” Draco judged. “One of these days, you will find out that not everybody is at your beck and call.”

“Not today, though.” Harry grinned. He threw on his Cloak and vanished from sight. Draco could hear him start down the stairs. “ _Now_ can we get lunch?”

“Not yet,” Draco said, following.

“I’m starving!”

“Tough luck. I’ve got to talk to Nash first, see if she is okay with finishing my shift.”

They were silent for a minute, save for the sound of their footsteps on the stairs.

“Can’t believe you just bit me like that,” Harry mumbled. “ _Prick._ ”

“Can’t believe you tried to shut me up by assaulting me,” Draco shot back. “ _Douchebag._ ”

Harry laughed suddenly, startling Draco considerably. “ _Douchebag?_ What kind of insult is that?”

“One you learn working emergency trauma healing,” Draco explained. “It’s a melting pot of insults down there.”

Nash was rather relieved to hear he had not been fired (although Draco chose to omit the reason) and more than willing to work Draco’s shift. She tried to hug him too, but Draco was able to dodge her, all the while eyeing a large spot on her scrubs, which he _hoped_ was blood.

“Thanks a Galleon!” Draco said gratefully, heading for the exit. “I owe you one!”

“A _big_ one!” she corrected him. “The Swans are still here, by the way. Heard about where you went on the wireless. The whole ward heard it, really. You’d better split before they spot you.”

Draco did not need to be told twice.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got friends,” Harry said in mock-awe as they stepped outside. Draco led the way down an empty street.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Draco protested. “You know I’ve got friends!”

“Like who?” Harry demanded to know, sounding way too smug.

“Like Blaise,” Draco answered firmly.

“That’s one friend, not _friends_ , plural.”

“Pansy.”

Harry snorted. “Well, nobody called me _that_ before. Another insult you learned in the _‘melting pot of injuries’_?”

“Parkinson,” Draco added, feeling his irritation rise.

“Oh, I know that one. That’s a Muggle illness. Didn’t think Mungo’s would see much of that.”

Draco cast a stinging hex at where he suspected Harry, earning a hissed complaint. “Pansy Parkinson is another friend of mine,” he elaborated, ignoring Harry’s discomfort.

“Tell me again, _when_ did you last see her?”

“She is busy building her fashion empire in France.”

“That’s what, five Apparition points away? She never has _any_ free time at all?”

“We talk on the Floo sometimes,” Draco said. He didn’t add that he could not remember the last time he had spoken to Pansy. Surely it had been sometime last year?

“Would she visit you if you were in the hospital? As a patient, I mean?”

“Merlin, no! Because I wouldn’t _tell_ her. You need to be perfectly alert to handle her.”

Also, Draco didn’t know if they were still close enough. He remembered a time when Pansy had been a constant fixture at his side, back when the Hippogriff had attacked him. But that had been before the war, during which both of them had made mistakes.

Coincidentally, one of _her_ mistakes had been to suggest handing Harry Potter over to the Dark Lord. Maybe that was why Harry was trying to convince Draco that she was _not_ one of his friends.

“Face it, Draco. You’re not exactly rich in friends.”

“I’ve got _you_ , haven’t I?” Draco mused. “You claimed to be my friend.”

“I don’t count.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Draco said in his most condescending voice, “You are worth at least seventy percent of the average friend.”

“Only _seventy_?”

“Well, you _did_ assault me several times in the last six months alone. Also, you brought a deadly snake into my home. Without a warning, I might add.”

“Bullshit!” Harry interjected. “That was last year. All over and done with.”

“You used me as a punchbag!”

“I pushed you _against_ a punchbag.”

“That wasn’t a push! That was a full-on force-field.”

“Involuntary!”

“It also _wasn’t_ last year. It wasn’t even two weeks ago. Still very much within the statute of limitations.”

“Now you’re splitting hairs!”

“I’m just saying! Seventy percent seems appropriate.”

“Fine, then how about _you_?”

“What about me?” Draco demanded, stopping where their street intersected with another. He wasn’t even sure where they were headed.

“This one time, you left me lying on the floor for a good three hours.”

“It’s called physical therapy, Potter. And I seem to recall that you were hell-bent on getting up on your own. Also, you suck at estimating time. It was an hour and a half, tops.”

“You _bit_ me!”

“You deserved it!”

“You –!” There was a sudden pause, during which the only sound was Harry’s breathing. “ _Damn_ it, I can’t think of anything else. You are the _worst._ ”

“Because I am not that bad?”

“Oh, you are, you’re just hiding it really well. But I am on to you.”

“So, you _don’t_ want to get lunch with me?”

Harry still sounded agitated, even as he said, “On the contrary. Where do you want to go?”

“I know a place,” Draco said, smirking in his direction. “But they don’t serve _invisibles_.”

“I don’t know if I want to support a bigoted establishment like that,” Harry joked, taking hold of Draco’s arm.

A moment later, they were standing behind the dumpster of Linh’s and Harry took off the Cloak. Wind chimes sounded when they stepped inside and Shen Jian, the middle-aged lady who owned the place, called out to them excitedly.

“Draco! I was starting to worry about you.”

“It’s not been _that_ long,” Draco argued, leading the way to a table at the back.

“Almost a month!” she countered, as if that were a long time not to order anything from one single place.

Harry sat down on the bench opposite Draco, barely supressing his laughter. “A whole month? My, Draco, whatever did you _eat?_ ” he exclaimed in mock-shock.

“You know full well what I ate, you made me cook it!” Draco shot back. “I’m still not over the trauma.”

She handed them the menus with a broad smile. “Time you had a proper meal, then.”

“My recipes _are_ proper,” Harry protested. “I didn’t exactly starve him.”

“You are Draco’s boyfriend, yes?” Jian said bluntly. “Enrico?”

“Did Mrs. Capitelli send a newsletter?” Draco groaned before Harry could protest. Best to let her believe that Draco was taken care of. “His name is Harry. Harry, this is Jian. She takes an interest in my life, for some reason.”

“Well, somebody has to!” she stated while Harry waved at her briefly. “Living all alone, always working. That’s no way to live your life.”

“I don’t live _all alone_ ,” Draco objected. “I’ve got a dog.”

Harry snorted. “You’re only making it worse, mate. Why don’t you also tell her that you only own one single cooking pot?”

“ _You_ live alone too!” Draco argued.

“I _have_ somebody to talk to.”

Draco smirked. “Snakes don’t count.”

“Draco! That’s not a nice thing to say about a person,” Jian chipped in.

“Yeah, _Draco,_ ” Harry agreed. “I’ll tell her you called her that.”

“Stop throwing me under the bus, Potter,” Draco said, kicking his shin for emphasis.

“Ouch!” In hindsight, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Harry kicked him back.

“Draco! Are you trying to scare him away? You’re going to end up all alone!” Jian threw her hands up in a truly desperate fashion.

“Oh, I’m not –” Harry tried to clarify.

“– going anywhere,” Draco finished for him. “Don’t worry, Jian. His manners are _abysmal_. Much worse than mine. People cross the street when they see him.”

“Hey!” Harry protested.

“They _do!_ ” Draco insisted. Jian didn’t need to know that people usually crossed the street to get _to_ Harry rather than _away_ from him.

“I’ll take the red curry tofu and a Coke, please,” Harry interrupted. Then he used the menu to clock Draco on the head before handing it back to Jian.

“I think I see it now,” Jian said with a crooked smile.

“The usual,” Draco said, keeping his menu for self-defence reasons.

She rolled her eyes (excessively, Draco thought) and disappeared into the kitchen.

Harry grinned at him. “Feels like meeting the family.”

“Not a date,” Draco clarified. “As I’ve already told you. You _just_ had a Quidditch accident because of that potion.”

“Then _why_ are you introducing me as your _boyfriend?_ ” Harry demanded to know, an eyebrow raised so high it almost vanished under his still damp mob, which hid his scar quite effectively.

“You think she would have believed me if I had told her otherwise? Mrs. Capitelli had _weeks_ to tell everyone all about you. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that she painted them a picture. By now, people would probably recognise you even when I’m not with you.”

“So, what you’re trying to say is ... you’re _using_ me so your nosey neighbour will lay off of you?”

“Precisely.”

Harry pondered this for a few seconds and then settled on shrugging. “I’ve had worse dates.”

“ _Not_ a date, Potter,” Draco repeated.

“Still had worse,” Harry grinned. “Like that one time when I asked out a girl who I assumed was a Muggle. She brought her whole extended family to the restaurant.”

“Don’t tell me you _stayed,_ ” Draco said.

“Are you mental?” Harry huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t even go in. Sent her a message that I was in an accident and wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“If you didn’t even meet them, how did you know they _weren’t_ Muggles?” Draco prompted. “Maybe she was just really socially inept?”

“You’d have known too if you’d have seen them,” Harry said, supressing another laugh. “And then there was that Prophet article, just the day after I stood her up. _‘Harry Potter in mortal peril?!’_ With both a question mark and an exclamation mark and all that.”

“A classic,” Draco commented. “So, she immediately went to the Prophet the moment she had something to tell?”

“Oh, not at all,” Harry said. “The informant was a _‘close friend’_. Shame none of those knew about my _‘accident’_.”

“Very unfortunate. Was there a picture?”

“They re-used one of me in St. Mungo’s. From before they closed down half the hospital whenever I come around.”

“Oh, I always look forward to that,” Draco enthused. “The whole wing is silent; you can actually hear yourself think ... it’s glorious.”

“Nice to know you look forward to me injuring myself,” Harry said jokingly. “Long story short, I keep a journal now.”

“Like a diary?” Draco grinned. “ _‘Dear Diary, today I had lunch with the Minister. Yawn.’_ ”

“ _‘January 16 th: Told Draco Malfoy I keep a diary. Remember to send an assassin if the Prophet should write about it. Preferably with machine gun.’_”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Draco said flatly. “But it sounds painful.”

Harry grinned. “Perfect, remember that.”

Draco put his elbows on the table to be able to lean forward. “So, what _did_ you tell me?” 

“Who says I did?” Harry replied, leaning forward as well. It felt like a challenge, though Draco couldn’t exactly say why. Maybe because just talking to Harry had always felt like a challenge, ever since that day on the train.

“Why _wouldn’t_ you? Don’t tell me it’s because I have a very trustworthy face or that you are a particularly trusting person.”

“Even I know you’re not _that_ stupid.” Harry scoffed, leaning back into his seat. “I didn’t have to test you, because you already knew far too much about me. Both medical and personal things. If you’d wanted to sell me out, you’d already have done it. Not like anything ever stopped you from feeding all that bullshit to Skeeter.”

“Wow, way to kill the mood, Potter,” Draco joked half-heartedly. He did feel rather bad about that incident now that he knew Harry better.

“Pretty sure you already did that, when you told me that this was not a date,” Harry replied, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I’d like to think you’re not that person anymore. I wouldn’t have let you into my home if there was any doubt about that.”

To say that Draco felt uncomfortable would have been an understatement. This was verging on a ‘feelings’ talk, and Draco did not know how to do those. Feelings were for ordinary people, not for Malfoys. He was saved from replying by Jian, who brought their drinks.

“So, I treated the most spoilt child in history today,” Draco said when they were alone again.

“Impossible,” Harry said, oblivious to the sudden change in subject. “My cousin holds that title and I doubt he came to Mungo’s.”

And they spent the rest of their lunch not-date talking about the worst children Draco ever met, which was a rather fruitful topic, as a trip to the Emergency Ward seemed to bring out the worst in already unbearable children (and their parents).

When Draco had first accepted his homosexuality, he had felt a kind of sorrow at the thought that he would never have children of his own. Six years at St. Mungo’s had effectively cured him of that notion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I _think_ that was alright?


	30. Counting Down the Days to Go [Wednesday, February 2nd 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🙌🏻 Big thanks to: AilurusMel, Amber Rose, Santa_Pacifica, Fan, OfAMind, Amanda, Superfan1224, ZanyNY, Evierosie02, Aeimnestos, WildvanillaRose, Obsessed362, serilla, illindalenti, ThatBoringOne and Julia (your English is great, aber ich nehm sonst auch Kommentare in Deutsch an 😉).
> 
> I honestly love all of your comments so much! I know it’s not always easy to find something to say, and I really appreciate the effort, even if it’s just an emoji! 🥰 
> 
> Also, you guys are so sure that it was a date, but Draco practically said “No homo” beforehand! ☝️

“Nobody needs five different knives, Potter!”

Harry grabbed Draco’s wrist when he tried to remove the knife set from his shopping trolley. “ _You_ asked _me_ for help, so let me help. Merlin knows you are in desperate need of it.”

“I asked for your help buying _one_ pot. Just the one. _Pot_. Not knives, not a bloody rolling pin and certainly not whatever that is.” Draco gestured at the strange metal thing at the bottom of his trolley.

“It’s a potato masher and you need it.” Now Harry grabbed Draco’s left hand too, which was the only reason the damned masher stayed where it was.

“What for?” Draco cried out. He thoroughly regretted asking Harry for help now. That man was a maniac when it came to cooking utensils. All Draco wanted was a second pot, was that so hard to understand?

“Mashing potatoes?” Harry said, clearly implying Draco was an idiot. His eyes focused on something behind Draco and he let go of him. “Pasta machine! You definitely need that.”

Harry dashed away and Draco seized the moment. The trolley was gone when Harry came back, carrying a box under his arm and looking down at his mobile phone in the other hand.

“Did somebody send you a message?”

“Yeah, Ella wants to know what I’m up to.” Harry put the mobile away and made to put the box into the trolley … which wasn’t there anymore. He held the box in the air for a second, turning around to look for it. “Malfoy!”

“Oh, what, _now_ it’s _‘Malfoy’_ again?” Draco observed. “No trolley, no useless stuff. Put that back, I’m not buying a fucking pasta machine.”

“But how else will you make pasta?” Harry made no move to surrender his loot.

“I won’t.” Draco grabbed a pot from the nearest shelf. “I’m buying this and nothing else. Let’s go.”

“You can’t buy that one,” Harry said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“You’ve had your chance,” Draco said resolutely. “I’m not taking any more of your advice.”

“Well, you should,” Harry replied, setting aside his pasta machine. “Because that’s the display model. You have to take one of the boxes underneath.”

Draco glared at him while switching his pot for one of the boxes. Stupid Muggles. Why would he want to buy something in a box? He wanted to see what he was buying, not trust what the box said.

“Also, that’s a pressure cooker.”

“So?” Draco pressed out, grabbing his box tighter. The sooner they left this place, the better. Half an hour was way too much time spent on buying one single pot.

“Do you know how it works?”

“How it _works?_ ” Draco repeated. “Water inside, fire underneath. Done.”

Harry took the box from him and put it back on its shelf. “I don’t think you’re ready for that just yet.”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re lowering your expectations?”

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to make instant soup.”

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!” Somebody in this shop was prone to injury, but it certainly was not Draco.

“Well, you are _definitely_ more Black than me.”

A passing woman shot them a decidedly incredulous look and dragged her son out of their aisle in a hurry. Draco could see where her confusion came from – Blaise had more than once told him that he was the whitest boy alive. And Harry was … well, not. Even if he wasn’t black per se.

“She probably thinks you’ve lost it.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Harry said unconcernedly. “Hey, remember when you told Skeeter I was _‘disturbed and dangerous’_?”

Draco groaned. “First of all: I only told her about the Parseltongue, the rest she made up on her own. Secondly: Could you _please_ let that go? How many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?”

“I’d settle for once.”

They looked at each other, both of them standing still. Harry seemed expectant; Draco was perplexed. Surely he must have apologised already? Sometime during the last months in which they had gotten to know each other better? He couldn’t remember, but now that he was really thinking, apologise was not something he usually did.

Best to just get it over it.

Draco took a deep breath and said, maybe a little bit rushed, “I’m sorry for everything I did from age eleven to seventeen. I shouldn’t have done it and I feel awful about most of it.”

“Most of it?” Harry repeated, furrowing his brow.

“Come on, even you must admit that Hagrid was _not_ a good teacher.”

Harry crossed his arm defensively, ready to go on a rampage if need be.

Draco put up a hand to stop him before he could begin. “Yes, he may be very knowledgeable when it comes to his creatures, but he has no idea how to convey any of it. Also, his methods are downright dangerous.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever find common ground when it comes to Hagrid,” Harry grumbled, but then he ruffled his hair absentmindedly and Draco knew that Harry agreed at least partially. He would just never admit it to him.

It suddenly dawned on Draco that Harry could have taken Emerald to Hagrid instead of him. Why hadn’t he?

“This one?” Draco asked, holding up what he hoped was a different box. Anything to change the topic.

“Over my dead body,” Harry replied, and then he wandered off in search of an acceptable pot.

Draco had to endure another fifteen minutes of that before they finally left the shop with his brand-new, Potter-approved pot (and also a very sharp knife that Draco could not talk him out of).

They were searching for a quiet alley they could Disapparate in, when suddenly someone honked directly next to them. Draco stumbled into Harry, which was good, because that way nobody could see Harry’s wand, which had found its way into his hand in the fragment of a second.

“Get in losers, we’re going shopping!”

A very small, very red car stopped next to them and Ella Reyes, one of Harry’s Muggle friends, waved at them through the open window. Olivia Townsend, part of the lesbian couple, was driving.

“As you can see, we’ve already been shopping,” Draco replied, holding up his bag.

“It’s just a figure of speech.” Ella grinned while Olivia ignored the line of cars that was building up behind her.

Draco exchanged a confused look with Harry to see if this was another kind of Muggle idiom, but he just shrugged helplessly.

“God, they haven’t seen it. _Liv!_ They don’t know it. Get in!”

Draco shot Harry a look that clearly conveyed that there simply was no way in hell he would get into that car. Everybody knew those things were unsafe. Draco could tell by the grin that spread on Potter’s face that he could read his expression perfectly.

Cars were beginning to flash their lights now, which seemed to spur Potter into motion. He took Draco’s bag and handed it to Ella, then opened the door and tried to push Draco in.

“Don’t you dare!” Draco yelled, hanging on to the top of the car for dear life while Potter pushed with everything he had. “I’ll curse you; I mean it!”

But then Potter tickled his sides and Draco couldn’t help but let go. They fell into the car in a heap, Potter half on top of him, and he could hear the door snap shut. He only got off of him when the car began to move. Draco definitely couldn’t get out _now_. He flipped over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Potter said, and then Draco was pulled into a sitting position.

Potter leaned over him (Draco could smell his peppermint shampoo and his stomach did a somersault that had nothing to do with the car) and pulled some kind of harness across Draco’s chest, tying him to the seat.

“I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t,” Potter replied, way too sure of himself.

“I wish I did.”

Draco grabbed the door handle as they flew around a corner, and, to his horror, it yielded. Potter flung himself across the backseat again and grabbed the door, slapping Draco’s hand away in the process.

“That one opens the door,” he yelled.

“I’ve thought about it, and I definitely _do_ hate you!” Draco yelled back, bracing himself against the roof.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Ella in a completely reasonable volume as she turned in her seat, grabbing her headrest.

“He’s got a phobia,” Potter said, probably because he couldn’t very well tell them that Draco had never been in a car before.

“It’s not a phobia if it’s a reasonable fear,” Draco pressed out through clenched teeth, because _honestly_.

And then, thank Merlin, the car stopped. The action was so abrupt that Draco was flung face-first into Olivia’s headrest, but as long as they stood still, he didn’t even care.

“Harry James!” said Olivia in a stern voice that didn’t match her sweet-tempered personality and delicate stature in the slightest. Potter and Ella both flinched as she turned around and glared at him. “Why would you make poor Draco get into the car if you knew he’s afraid?”

Potter pressed his back into the seat, trying to create some distance. “He just needs to face his fear for once, then he’ll see how stupid it really is.”

“Know what’s really stupid? That idea.”

“Nah, I saw it in a movie once,” Ella chimed in. “Exposure therapy works for some things.”

“So, you’re qualified psychotherapists, the two of you?”

They mumbled something unintelligible while Olivia ignored the cars that were honking behind them.

“I like her,” Draco said, fumbling with his harness-thing.

Harry, who deserved to be thought of by his first name again, now that he wasn’t being a wanker anymore, leaned over and unstrapped him, which was a literal weight off Draco’s chest.

“I’ll walk you to Ella’s,” Harry said. Which they probably _wouldn’t_ do, because which wizard in their right mind even _walked_ anymore if they could help it?

“Thank … Jesus Christ,” Draco said, correcting himself at the last moment.

“Almost right,” Harry commented with a grin, removing his harness as well. Then he added casually, “You know, I really thought you could take it. Guess I overestimated you.”

And Draco, always susceptible to _Potter’s_ taunts, rose to the challenge with a sigh and tied himself back to the car. “I hate you so much.”

Potter grinned at him broadly, then joined Ella in a high-five. Olivia turned around and actually banged her head against the steering wheel.

“ _Boys,_ ” she groaned loudly. “What is the point of them?”

They drove the rest of the way much slower than before. Draco guessed that Olivia usually did not get overtaken _that_ often. He could not remember the last time somebody had been this considerate of his feelings and felt rather grateful to her.

It really was a shame that she fancied women. And that he did not. Though, if his parents were to be believed, that was not really an issue at all. Then again, he would probably go mad if his partner coddled him like that all the time.

~o~

Ella and Callum’s apartment was completely plastered with framed movie posters. Some of them showed people Draco had seen on the covers of Muggle magazines, the kind his neighbour Mrs. Maloney liked to read. Every culture needed its icons, Draco thought. Someone everybody could gossip about without facing repercussions.

Harry interrupted his inspection by dragging him over to where the TV stood. They sat down on the middle couch, which – by the look of its worn cushions – seemed to be the best of the three. The girls were busy in the kitchen, so Draco leaned over to him and asked, “So, what are the rules here?”

“Just don’t ask stupid questions while they are there. And Ella will talk a lot and analyse everything, so maybe just try to keep up with the movie. Oh, and you must eat copious amounts of popcorn.”

“Nice try, Harry,” said Ella, and then she and Olivia sat down on his right, squishing Harry against Draco and Draco against the armrest in the process.

“Cuddly,” Olivia commented, draping an arm over the backrest. Probably because there was nowhere else for it to go. She started to rearrange Harry’s hair, which was, of course, a lost cause, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Restricting,” Draco disagreed, acutely aware of where they were pressed against each other.

“You’re free to switch,” Ella said, indicating the other couches.

Harry grabbed the only thing he could reach, which was Draco’s wrist. “We can definitely outlast them!” he announced fiercely.

Which was why they were still jammed together an hour and a half later. At least Draco didn’t have to worry about being pressed up against Harry anymore – his right arm had gone to sleep over an hour ago.

“So?” Ella asked excitedly. “What do you think, Draco?”

“Er …,” Draco said, looking at Harry for help. What did people usually say after watching a movie? What were the criteria? Harry looked back at him expectantly, being no help at all. “It was titled accurately? Those girls were definitely mean.”

“I know, right? I love it so much, I already watched it like five times.”

“Didn’t you get the DVD for Christmas?” Olivia said in a judgemental tone. And then, thankfully, she stood up to stretch her legs in what was probably a yoga pose.

“It’s gonna be a classic,” Ella stated confidently. “I’m just ahead of my time.”

“Callum’s back,” Harry said suddenly, a second before they heard the keys in the lock and Callum came in.

“Hey girls,” he said, dropping a folder onto the coffee table. He spotted the three of them still huddled together and grinned. “Oh, Harry and Draco are here as well. When did you two get together?”

“Er – I think it was around ten?” Harry guessed. “What time is it now?”

Ella laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. “No, when did you get _together?_ ”

“Oh, no,” Draco spluttered, leaping to his feet so fast Harry fell into the empty space Draco had occupied. “That’s not… we’re not. No.”

“Wow. Thanks, Draco,” Harry said drily.

The Muggles were looking at Draco with raised eyebrows. Like they couldn’t comprehend how Draco could even dare reject their precious friend.

Harry regained their attention by getting up as well. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s stupid,” Ella said bluntly. “He’s clearly into you and we _all_ know you’ve had a crush on him since –”

“Wow, would you look at the time!” Harry grabbed their jackets from one of the empty sofas. “See you next year, maybe.”

“I think I’ll stay,” Draco said with a grin. “I’m very interested in hearing the rest of that sentence.”

“Are you also interested in being thoroughly interrogated by these lunatics? Previous relationships _, childhood stories_ –”

Draco snatched his jacket from Harry. He was definitely not ready to fabricate a completely Muggle-worthy childhood without supervision. Also, his love life was way too pathetic to tell anyone about. People usually thought that something was wrong with you if you told them that you only had one relationship in the last five years, which hadn’t even lasted a full two months. Or that your last casual hook-up had practically begged you to never contact them again when they finally recognised you in the morning. He hadn’t even told Blaise about that one.

“Thank you for inviting us; the popcorn was excellent.” Draco inclined his head towards Olivia. “Tell Lauren I said hello.”

Harry just yelled “Bye!” and then they were out of the door before anyone could stop them. In silence they walked down the busy street until they finally found a deserted side alley.

“Want to come back to mine for some tea?”

“This is not a date, Potter. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Fine,” Draco said, because he didn’t have anything better to do.

He took hold of Harry’s arm, which was a very big mistake. They turned and reappeared somewhere outside. Draco only got a fleeting look at some trees and then Harry grabbed Draco’s arm, preventing him from letting go. They turned again (Draco’s stomach right along) and ended up in another dark alley. But Harry was not done yet. The third jump was even more brutal than the last and Draco fell against Harry’s hallway wall, trying to keep the popcorn where it was.

“What the fuck was that?” he groaned, taking shallow breaths. “You don’t live overseas, Potter. One jump is definitely enough.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, ruffling his hair. He didn’t seem worn out in the slightest, but at least he looked somewhat rueful. “Should’ve warned you.”

But he didn’t explain what all those detours were about, deciding to escape into the kitchen instead. Draco took another minute to compose himself before following him. He definitely needed a cup of tea now. His stomach was in a considerable uproar.

“Spoons are in the leftmost drawer,” Harry told him, looking up from the tea-kettle.

Draco stumbled towards the drawer that was closest to him and yanked it open. Was this what being under the influence of Confounding Concoction felt like?

“Left! Draco, that’s not left!” 

“Hey, that’s my wand!” Draco yelled, looking down at his very first wand (ten inches, hawthorn and unicorn hair, reasonably springy). Harry closed the drawer forcefully, nearly jamming Draco’s fingers. 

“No, it’s not,” he corrected. 

“Yes, it is!” Draco argued, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I bought it at Ollivanders, fourteen years ago!” 

“Yes, well, and I took it from you seven years ago,” Harry shot back. 

“Fine, then I’m taking it back now,” Draco said and before Harry could react, he had opened the drawer again and taken the wand out. “How do you like that, hm?” 

“It doesn’t work like that!” Harry yelled exasperatedly.

Suddenly, a comfortable warmth was spreading up Draco’s wand arm, and the lamps along the wall were growing steadily brighter. The gas stove-top lit up behind Harry and he jumped, grabbing Draco’s arm reflexively. Whether this was for support or to restrain him, Draco didn’t know. 

“Well, apparently it does,” Draco said, grinning. Harry looked extremely puzzled.

“But you didn’t defeat me.” 

“There, see for yourself.” Draco offered him the wand. “Do something.” 

Harry took it and turned it over in his hands thoughtfully. 

“ _Nox_.” The lights went out at once and Harry cast him a triumphant look. 

“Come on, that doesn’t prove anything,” Draco rolled his eyes. “You could probably cast _Nox_ even without a wand. Try something challenging.” 

For a moment, Harry did nothing. Then he closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips. He raised the hawthorn wand wordlessly and a bright, silver stag broke from it. It pranced around the two of them once, orbiting them like their own personal moon, and then turned to mist. 

“Show-off,” Draco muttered and Harry laughed and put the wand back in the drawer. 

“Not my fault you chose to light a campfire for your performance,” Harry teased him. 

“I didn’t choose anything, it just happened,” Draco answered. “And I couldn’t have conjured a Patronus even if I wanted.” 

“You can’t –?” Harry started and Draco shot him a warning glance. 

“Let’s not go there,” he interrupted and then quickly changed the topic. “A wand can’t serve two wizards at once, can it?” 

Harry just shrugged and handed him his tea. “Let’s definitely not go _there_.” 

And they left it at that. 


	31. Violet [Monday, February 7th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to the people who keep me happy all day long: Amber Rose, Santa_Pacifica, ThatBoringOne, serilla, Fandomwarriorqueen, illindalenti, Na_Na_oh_Na_Na, AlluraBelle, Fan, Evierosie02, XOX_Eternity_XOX and Weingi! 😊
> 
> I’m glad you guys like Olivia! She’s my favourite! Just such a sweetheart. ❤️
> 
> I have a feeling you’ll like this one too.

Draco chucked his sterile healing scrubs into the rubbish bin enthusiastically. Reassembling that girl’s splintered ribcage had been his last case for the day and he was looking forward to a very hot bath and some Chinese food. Now all that was left was checking his chart to verify that his patients were indeed all transferred to the Healer on duty.

Bright red ink caught his eyes, forming the words _‘Priority patient – H. J. Potter’_ and his stomach dropped _._ Detailed underneath were his whereabouts and nothing else, which meant that the Welcome Witch hadn’t gotten anything out of him.

Draco practically ran down three flights of stairs and yanked open the door of examination room number three, which startled Harry so much he dropped the anatomical model of a heart that he was holding. Since this happened quite often, maintenance had charmed the model to be unbreakable. It bounced and Harry caught it hastily, putting it back on the counter with a guilty look on his face.

“Surprise,” he said weakly, a crooked grin on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Draco said, drawing his wand. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing!” Harry waved his hand and the door closed behind Draco. “I just came to see you. And to ask if you’d want to watch a movie?”

Draco stopped scanning Harry’s body for injuries, eyes snapping back to his face. He was speechless for a few seconds, heart still racing. “ _That’s_ the whole reason you’re here? To ask me on a date?”

“Well … yeah. It’s the seventh. My three weeks ended yesterday. I’m officially recovered, you can ask Padma.”

Draco leaned back against the wall and worked on catching his breath. He really needed to do more exercise. And maybe find a man who wasn’t in constant peril of getting injured.

What had he done to deserve this? Alright, there was no need to answer that question. Draco was just retroactively thankful that he hadn’t cared this much about Harry when there had been a madman actively trying to kill him.

“I don’t think I can take another evening with your Muggle friends so soon. Holding all those questions in was _exhausting_. Do _all_ girls go to school dressed like streetwalkers? How did they not get detention? Do Muggle schools even _have_ detention? Why would they crown someone at a ball? Why would they _choose_ who to crown? That’s not how a monarchy works, even I know that.”

“Wow, you had a minute or two to think about that, huh?” Harry grinned at him fondly. “The election is just a tradition; it doesn’t mean anything. And most girls wear perfectly normal clothes. Movies tend to exaggerate quite a bit.”

“Then how am I supposed to know what’s accurate?” Draco cried out in frustration, which seemed to amuse Harry immensely.

“Just stick to me.” Harry grinned. “And I wasn’t asking you to movie night with the others. I’m talking about the real deal – cinema. Just the two of us. I’ll even let you choose the movie.”

“There’s more than one?”

Harry hid his grin behind his Cloak and grabbed his arm. “You’re almost as clueless as Arthur. It’s adorable. This is going to be _so_ much fun.”

~o~

They didn’t go to the cinema straight away. Draco was able to persuade Harry to swing by his house so he could shower and get changed. When he came back down, Harry sat on his sofa, Aurelius draped over his lap.

“I ordered Chinese, hope that’s okay with you?” Harry asked as soon as he stepped into the kitchen, without even looking up. That man had superhuman hearing.

“Fine by me,” Draco said, stifling a yawn. He sank into the armchair opposite Harry, fully intending never to get up again.

“How do you usually order?” Harry asked curiously. “You don’t have a telephone.”

“I fire-call Muggle Liaisons. They connect me.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully and continued tickling Aurelius’ favourite spot between the ears. When the bell rang, Draco only sank further into his chair, shooting Harry a pointed look.

“It’s your house!” Harry protested, ruffling Aurelius’ fur thoroughly, as if to show that he couldn’t possibly get up.

Well, neither would Draco. “It’s your order,” he said coolly.

“Exactly. I took care of that, now it’s your turn.”

“I’m sorry, Potter. I _thought_ this was supposed to be a date.”

Harry grumbled and made a lengthy show of getting up, only getting a move on when the bell rang a second time.

“Coming!” he shouted. Draco could only just see him covering his scar with hair before he vanished into the hallway. At least he was trying.

Aurelius didn’t waste any time to join Draco in his armchair, effectively burying him. Draco didn’t mind. It felt like being covered with a heavy blanket, warm and comfortable. He closed his eyes and listened to the crackling of the fire Harry had lit.

“Don’t fool yourself, we’re still going out later,” Harry said suddenly, startling him.

Aurelius leapt down to sniff the bag Harry had put on the coffee table.

“I can’t move a muscle,” Draco lamented. “Today was torture.”

“Even more reason to do something fun!” Harry said energetically. Draco just grumbled. “Well,” Harry continued. “I guess if you can’t move _at all_ , I’ll have to eat your food.”

“Don’t you dare,” Draco hissed, flicking his wand in his general direction.

His hand closed around two fortune cookies that came flying, missing a third one he had not anticipated. Harry caught it before it could hit the ground and sat back on his sofa.

“I asked for one extra, to make up for last time,” he said incidentally.

Draco looked up at him and said generously, “In that case … I guess you can keep that one.”

Harry grinned at him and handed him a magazine with two _immensely_ attractive Muggles on the cover. “Here, this has some shots and information on the movies they are showing. Just pick one.”

It was not as easy as _‘just picking one’_. They spent the entire meal discussing different movies, which meant that Harry was mostly explaining words and phrases that meant nothing to Draco. In the end he just picked the most colourful one, guessing that it would be cheerful and (hopefully) not too complicated.

~o~

Well, Draco had been wrong before. The movie was loud and flashy and also highly confusing. At least the ending was happy, though (according to Harry) that was a given with children’s movies. Which this one apparently was. Draco argued that there were hardly any children present at the showing, but Harry blamed that on the time of day. It was almost midnight when the movie ended.

They Apparated to a street a few minutes away from Draco’s house, because Harry simply _insisted_ on walking him home. Draco just wished they could have forgone two of the three jumps that Harry deemed necessary for some arbitrary reason. As if his brain hadn’t already been in a knot before that.

There had been so much to take in, and separating the real elements from the fictional ones seemed practically impossible. Muggles obviously had those airplane things, but building a robot that big was apparently unrealistic?

Also, contrary to what Harry had told him, the robot did not look like an Imperiused suit of armour, which had Draco pondering what other misinformation Harry might have spread. Maybe he would have to read up on some things. Not that he knew where to look for that kind of information.

Harry had told him that computers could tell you practically everything, but what if that had been a lie too? Also, he would have to read up on how to operate a computer first. And then he would have to find one. Maybe he could ask Granger instead. _She_ certainly wouldn’t answer a question incorrectly if she could help it.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry interrupted his thoughts by nudging Draco’s shoulder with his own.

“Violet,” was the first thing that came to mind. _Violet?_ Where was he supposed to go with that? Good thinking, Draco!

“What about her?”

Time to improvise. “Well, you realise she’s practically you?”

Harry missed a beat and then caught up with him again. “I’m afraid I don’t see the resemblance,” he said with a grin.

“She turns invisible, like, constantly. Also: shield charm.”

“She – I’m not – _Shut up!_ ” Harry spluttered.

“She has black hair too. Which is always in her face, by the way. Need I go on?”

“An animated teenage girl is not an accurate representation of me!” Harry exclaimed indignantly.

“She wears red, like, most of the time,” Draco said incidentally. Which wasn’t that hard, because he had only just thought of the comparison.

Harry grabbed him by both arms and spun him around so that Draco’s back was touching Mrs. Capitelli’s hedge. “If you ever call me Violet, I’ll tell everybody to call you Ferret Face again.”

“And boy, does she have a temper,” Draco said with a smirk, looking pointedly at where Harry’s hands were digging into his arms.

“I don’t – _argh!_ ”

Harry made a frustrated noise and let go of him with a slight shove. Draco, who thought he could be a little dramatic about it, leaned into it. Problem was: Mrs. Capitelli’s hedge wasn’t as sturdy as he had thought.

Harry seemed to realise what was about to happen and grabbed his arms again, but the damage was done – they tumbled into the shrubs together, and not too quietly.

The lights in several houses had gone on by the time they were able to extract themselves from the hedge and there were voices coming from Mrs Capitelli’s.

Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him with him across the street. They almost fell through the front door, which unlocked itself when they drew near. Draco pressed Harry against the wall inside so he could slam the door shut behind them. They looked at each other in the dark, both of them panting (Harry slightly and Draco embarrassingly much).

“There’s a twig in your hair,” Draco muttered finally, pulling it out. “Really completes the look. You were going for ‘bird’s nest’, right?”

Harry took the twig and just let it fall to the floor, his eyes never leaving Draco’s. He took a sudden step forward and Draco backed up against the door automatically. Harry put one hand on Draco’s shoulder and the other on his hip and pressed him against the door with his own body. But when they kissed, it was soft and slow and not at all what Draco expected.

Draco’s stomach was in an uproar, like a million butterflies had been released all at once. That was probably the reason why he felt light-headed, felt like his feet were just about to leave the ground.

This was the exact opposite of a dementor’s kiss. Draco felt like he actually gained a little more soul the longer Harry’s lips were on his. He plunged one hand into Harry’s hair and placed the other on his back, drawing him closer.

Harry did the one thing Draco didn’t want him to do – he withdrew, eyes half-closed, and then leaned his forehead against Draco’s. He sounded breathless as he asked, “So, how would you feel about dinner tomorrow?”

Draco just nodded dumbly, not sure if his voice would even work right now. Harry kissed him again for a moment that wasn’t _nearly_ long enough and then took a step back. Draco let him go reluctantly. He was all for more contact, not less. Less was a stupid idea.

“Do you want to …” Draco started, but he trailed off when Harry smiled softly and took another step back.

“I’ll keep my Floo open for you tomorrow. Come by around six?”

Draco nodded, not really sure what had just happened. He was no expert on dating, but he had a feeling that there was supposed to be a certain amount of sex at the end of it. And it didn’t really look like that was where they were headed right now. 

Harry smiled again and pulled his Cloak out of an inside pocket. “Good night, Draco.”

Then he vanished. An invisible hand took hold of Draco’s and then there were soft lips on Draco’s for the fraction of a second. The door opened and then he was gone.

But when Draco was lying in bed later, it wasn’t sex he was thinking about. He couldn’t help but think how nice it had been of Harry not to compare him to the movie’s villain in retaliation. The resemblance was certainly there – rejected by the hero and subsequently acting against him because of it. Had Harry really not seen it?

Maybe, just maybe, he could see something else in him? It _was_ rather pretentious to assume Draco had ever been the main antagonist of Harry’s life. Maybe Draco really was more like the villain’s platinum blonde assistant who changed sides in the end? He liked to think that Harry saw that in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... could you tell which movie they saw? 😅


	32. All Work and also some Play [Sunday, February 13th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit you guys, that’s a lot of comments! 🤗
> 
> Massive thanks go to: Fan, filidoune, 0anac0, Amber Rose, ThatBoringOne, Superfan1224, illindalenti, chinykawaii, Secret_draco_admirer7, serilla, Evierosie02, De_Borah, XOX_Eternity_XOX, IrisLocal, WildvanillaRose, and Fandomwarriorqueen!
> 
> You guy are a very talented cheer squad for sure! 😘
> 
> So, did someone say Quidditch?

Harry was the last to get examined by Draco, sitting on a bench in his formfitting black sportswear and looking up at him like this was totally normal.

“Nervous?” Draco asked him for something to say.

It was awkward pretending not to know Harry as well as he did. They couldn’t exactly talk about their plans for the evening. Not that Draco was dumb enough to make plans on a match day – who knew if Harry would even be conscious at the end of it? But the potential was there.

“Nah,” Harry said lightly.

His heartbeat was slightly elevated but steady. He was exactly the right kind of excited and Draco knew that he wasn’t on this team because of his name – Harry simply loved flying, in a way Draco never had. He had _liked_ it of course, not least of all because of the prestige that came with being on the house team. But he had never _needed_ it to feel whole.

“What about you?” Harry asked cheekily while Draco shone a Lumos first at his left and then his right pupil. Who would have thought that he ever would get paid to stare at Harry Potter’s eyes?

“You’re good to go.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why would _I_ be nervous?”

Harry got up and put on his Quidditch robes, all the while not breaking eye contact. “First day at your new job?”

“It’s my old job, only now you lot can’t lie to me about what happened.” Draco scoffed, covering his anxiety.

Harry mimed whacking him across the head with his five hundred galleon broom. Draco ducked away and turned to face the rest of them.

“All right, good luck. I would say to break a leg, but don’t, _please_.”

He could hear Harry snort behind him. “You’re not the boss of me!”

“Yeah, we can break all our bones if we want to,” said Captain Leona Robinson.

“I already regret taking this job,” Draco declared, and with one last look at Harry he turned around and left the changing rooms, stepping onto the pitch.

It was like getting hit with a Bludger to the eardrums. The noise doubled suddenly and Draco turned around to check if any of the players had followed him out onto the pitch to warrant that kind of racket, but the door was still closed. He walked alongside the pitch to the two benches that stood parallel to its middle line and sat down next to Tabitha Woods, who was there on behalf of the Appleby Arrows.

“What are they cheering for already?” Draco asked her with a shake of his head. “They’ll be hoarse before the game even starts.”

“I believe that’s _your_ fan club,” Tabitha said with a laugh. And if that wasn’t just hilarious.

“Good one,” Draco snorted. He indicated his light grey scrubs with the falcon on the front. “Is it because of my incredible fashion sense?”

“I _assume_ it’s about you saving Harry Potter’s life twice and getting him back on the pitch. My sister actually begged me to ask you for your autograph. Though I think _that_ has more to do with you telling Potter off after he punched Dayal. She said if she ever bought a Pensieve, it would be for that memory.”

“You’re kidding.” Draco looked up at the nearest stands. The occupants were indeed looking right back at him, waving madly. Some took pictures. “You’re _not_ kidding?”

“They started shouting as soon as you came out,” Tabitha assured him. She elbowed him lightly, smiling at him. “Don’t act so surprised, you earned it. About time one of us got some recognition!”

Draco was saved from replying by Bagman, who announced the teams and then officially started Draco’s very first Quidditch game without further ado.

He didn’t get another opportunity to really speak to her for most of the game, because they were both preoccupied with watching their teams for injuries that would warrant immediate treatment. Draco certainly couldn’t count on the players calling it themselves, which was confirmed when Phaedra Armstrong tried to play on after being wacked in the head by her opponent’s broom. When Draco finally managed to lure her down, the collar of her robe was drenched in blood.

Healing her only took half a minute, but when he looked up, the whole stadium seemed to be watching him intently. The Arrows’ Seeker seemed to be the only person who was not looking down at him, slowly scanning the pitch instead.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Coach Greyson wasn’t watching Draco, either, but – “Potter!” Greyson’s magnified voice carried through the whole stadium. “Would you do your damn job?!”

“What the fuck is he doing?” Armstrong mumbled as Harry grimaced and turned his back on them hastily. “I thought he trusts you to do your job?”

“Please don’t ask me to explain that moron’s behaviour,” Draco said. “I don’t think I ever understood a single thing he did. You’re good to go.”

Harry was lucky – when the referee blew his whistle to resume the game, the opposing Seeker didn’t make a dash for a Snitch only he had seen. Maybe he wouldn’t have to explain why he had been watching Draco instead of keeping an eye on the pitch.

“Complicated relationship?” Tabitha asked.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Is it true you got assigned to home care at his house?”

Draco did his best not to show his surprise and kept his eyes on Chaser Lauryn Mason, who had just narrowly avoided two Bludgers at the same time. “Who told you _that?_ ”

“Dayal,” she said matter-of-factly. “It really bugged him. Seemed to think they should’ve chosen him.”

Draco couldn’t help but scoff. As if Harry ever would have let a stranger into his home. Less alone Dayal. “Fat chance.”

“Rumour has it their Coach went to Chief Cortez about it,” she continued, clearly watching for a reaction. “Because Dayal was allegedly better acquainted with Potter’s medical history.”

Draco just shrugged. It was no surprise that Greyson didn’t like him. Draco was still impressed that Harry had managed to get him on the team in the first place. That man had some serious pull.

“Are you sure you should be telling me this?” he said thoughtfully, eyes fixed on Harry, who was suddenly nosediving at break-neck speed.

“I never liked Dayal anyway,” she said coincidentally. “He always acted like he was better than us. Only started talking to me when I got chosen for the Arrows.”

“Well, I don’t exactly remember _you_ talking to _me_ before today.”

“No hard feelings, Draco, but I didn’t know if you could be trusted.”

“And now you do?”

“Harry Potter seems to trust you. I guess that means you’re trustworthy,” she simply said. “Unlike Dayal.”

Draco just nodded absentmindedly. Harry and the Arrows’ Seeker were shoulder to shoulder now, both trying to pull ahead. They were also speeding straight towards the stands.

“Well, he got suspended anyway, so look who’s laughing now,” Tabitha said smugly. “A whole month. Also, the Prophet really tore him to pieces.”

Draco turned to look at her. “Cortez _suspended_ him? Isn’t Dayal related to her somehow?”

“Their mothers are cousins,” Tabitha said with a sly grin. “Guess you really shouldn’t cross Harry Potter.”

And that was when Harry turned his broom sideways very suddenly, making a grab for the Snitch while simultaneously blocking his opponent with his body, who collided with him at full speed. They crashed into the stands with a deafening bang that left the whole structure shaking.

“Oh shit,” they whispered in unison. And then they were running.

It took three minutes until they had finally stabilised the structure enough to be able to go inside. The Seekers were buried under a heap of wooden planks. Harry had apparently taken the brunt of it, because he was on the bottom of it all, unresponsive. The other Seeker was on top of him, seemingly only a little bit bruised but unable to get up because of the debris.

“I can feel him breathing,” he said, a little short of breath. “I think he’s alright.”

Draco cast a diagnostic spell on Harry while Tabitha crouched down next to her own patient. “Comfortable, Jackson?” she said with what sounded like a big, dirty grin on her face.

“Very funny,” Jackson replied. “Would you please get me out of here? _Now_?”

Tabitha was seconds away from laughing now. “You sure? I always thought this would be a dream come true for you.”

“Are you a masochist or something?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry was indeed _‘fine’_. His clavicle was just slightly cracked and his concussion only minor.

“ _No._ Just ignore her,” Jackson said, his nonchalant tone betrayed by the warning glance he gave Tabitha.

“He’s got a man-crush on Potter,” Tabitha said regardless.

“Tabitha!” Jackson sounded scandalised. “I don’t have a _‘man-crush’_.”

“Fine, a regular crush then.”

“Have you thought that through?” Draco asked while moving planks out of the way with his wand. Waking Harry up could wait until there wasn’t some random admirer plastered to his chest. “Aren’t you a little too young to have your life ruined by Potter’s crazy fans?”

“I’m eighteen!” Jackson protested, apparently forgetting that he allegedly wasn’t even interested in Harry.

“That’s what too young means,” Draco said. “You should start with something easy instead. Maybe don’t choose a rivalling player, that could get complicated. Also, I would advise you to go for someone who is at least _somewhat_ interested in men.”

It really was no wonder that Jackson fled as soon as they had dug him up, Tabitha trailing after him. Draco took pity on Harry and healed him while he was still unconscious. The bruises he left as a memento. Harry wouldn’t learn from this if he didn’t feel at least some of it.

They stepped outside together, Harry’s left arm draped around Draco’s shoulders, leaning on him heavily. His right hand, the one that was holding the Snitch, was raised into the air. The rise in noise was enormous and when Harry grinned at him lopsidedly while the team touched down around them, Draco felt like he had won the game himself.

“Brilliant, Harry! That didn’t even count as a foul!” Leona Robinson yelled, slapping Harry on the back so hard she almost pushed him to the ground.

Draco tightened his grip around Harry’s waist. “I’m afraid you’ll have to celebrate without him,” he said with as much authority as he could muster. After watching Robinson practically slaughter most of the Arrows with her bat, Draco had a new-found (and probably healthy) respect for her. She was scary. “He’s definitely got a concussion.”

Beater Easton Haynes laughed. “Again? Just two more and you’ll break the record.”

“Can’t let Flynn hog all the glory,” Harry said with a tired grin, giving Flynn Montgomery, one of the Chasers, a wink (if you could even call it that, as he closed both eyes doing it). “See you on Monday.”

“Thursday,” Draco corrected him.

“Tuesday?”

“Definitely not before Thursday, Potter.”

“So … Wednesday.”

“Want me to bench you for a whole week?” Draco said threateningly, poking Harry’s bruised rib, which caused a sharp inhale.

“See you on Thursday, Harry,” said Robinson decisively.

“Have fun signing your names a thousand times,” Harry said with another botched wink, barely covering his excitement to have an excuse not to take part in that.

The rest of the team went to meet their fans at the designated spot while the two of them set off towards the changing rooms. They were almost there when Tabitha caught up with them.

“Draco!”

Draco and Harry turned around, which seemed to be the moment Tabitha really realised whom Draco was supporting. Her mouth snapped shut and she turned an unsightly shade of red.

“Erm … so …,” she said, glancing at Harry only briefly and then avoiding to look at him again. “How did you like your first match?”

“Well, nobody died – and not for a lack of trying,” Draco said casually, shifting slightly to redistribute some of Harry’s weight, “So I seem to have done alright.”

“Debatable,” Harry said, stretching his free, Snitch-holding arm, which was heavily scratched and slightly bloody. “Do I look well cared for?”

“You deserve that,” Draco said unperturbedly. “How else will a Gryffindor ever learn?” 

A nervous giggle burst out of Tabitha’s mouth and she turned even redder. “So … I was thinking, that maybe you’d perhaps want to … erm … you know, go for a drink or something?”

“Now?” Draco asked in confusion, tightening his grip around Harry’s waist to keep him from shifting so much. Wasn’t the prat aware that Draco was practically bearing half of his body weight? “On a Sunday? In the middle of the day?”

“Oh, right …,” she stammered. “We could eat something instead?”

“Would you stop fidgeting for one second?” Draco shot Harry an irritated look.

“I would love to if I could find a position that didn’t hurt,” Harry shot back, giving him a _look_ that probably meant he wanted to leave.

“I am sorry, Tabitha,” Draco sighed. “I seem to have some more work to do today. Maybe another time?”

She just nodded and turned on her heels, walking away at considerable speed.

“Look at that, you intimidated her,” Draco said with a grin, and they entered the changing room. Harry plonked himself on the nearest bench in an instant.

“Me?” Harry snorted absentmindedly, busy with stashing the Snitch inside his bag. “She didn’t ask _me_ on a date.”

Draco punched his arm, which maybe wasn’t the best idea on this specific occasion. “She did not,” he spluttered while Harry said _“Ouch!”_ and glared at him.

“Then what did she do?”

Harry took off his robes and threw them into the laundry basket. He didn’t take off the sports gear underneath, which was a relief to Draco, who at least wanted to pretend to separate his work from his private life.

“Ask to go for a drink with a colleague?” Draco said. Obviously. “People usually don’t ask me on dates, you know.”

“I did,” Harry said, shrinking his bag to put it into his pocket. “Repeatedly.”

“You’re a nutter, you don’t count.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday.” Harry wagged his eyebrows.

Draco didn’t think that making out in Harry’s kitchen (fully clothed, mark you!) warranted a wagging of eyebrows. That required at least _some_ nakedness, at least in his eyes. But maybe he was just old-fashioned. It was, of course, possible that Harry was referring to the shepherd’s pie he had made for them. That had indeed been eyebrow-worthy.

“I –” Draco said, but Harry held up a hand.

“Someone’s coming.”

It was Harry’s reserve Felicity McCarthy, who (despite belonging to the winning team) didn’t look all that happy. Her mood soured further when she spotted Harry.

“Draco,” she said, nodding in his direction. She didn’t acknowledge Harry and started to change into her street clothes.

“Felicity.” Draco returned the nod and then cast another (quite unnecessary) diagnostic spell at Harry to appear busy.

It was weird. He never knew where he stood with fellow Slytherins. They usually could be divided into two camps: The first tried to distance themselves from former Death Eaters as much as possible, for fear of being associated with them. The second group seemed to think he hadn’t changed at all and admired him for all the wrong reasons. At least she had greeted him – Draco seemed to rank above Harry, if nothing else.

“McCarthy,” Harry said regardless, earning himself an annoyed frown. He indicated her Quidditch robes. “You really didn’t have to get all dressed up on my behalf.”

She just rolled her eyes at him and folded her robes neatly, seemingly completely unperturbed. “Well, you never know. Wouldn’t be the first time I had to pick up your slack. You’re not exactly the most reliable player. Matt certainly likes me to stand by.”

“There’s no denying you have a lot of experience standing by,” Harry pressed out.

McCarthy had definitely struck a nerve. Perhaps Harry should have thought of that before he decided to goad her. Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe it was just Harry’s Gryffindor nature. One thing was certain: Draco wasn’t exactly keen on watching this play out, so he ended his spell with much more wand waving than was strictly necessary.

“No need to take you to St. Mungo’s,” he cut in before McCarthy could shoot back. “I’ll side-along you home so you can rest, and by Thursday you’ll be as good as new.”

“Take your time, Potter. We’ll manage without you.”

“Don’t bother making yourself comfortable.” The Seekers were glaring at each other now.

“Alright,” Draco interjected, pulling Harry up by his upper arm maybe a little too roughly. “We’re off. Goodbye, Felicity.”

“See you, Draco.”

Harry waited until they were out of earshot before he hissed, “Are you friends with her or something?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you were friendly, for starters?”

A short laugh escaped Draco. “That wasn’t friendly, that was reserved.”

“You talk to Blaise exactly the same way,” Harry objected.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “I really hope you still have your glasses somewhere, Potter, because you must be going blind if you think those two scenarios are even slightly similar. Subtlety really is lost on Gryffindors, it would seem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what comes after February 13th? 🤔


	33. Valentine [Monday, February 14th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting: Kiwicustard191, Fan, Amber Rose, illindalenti, serilla, Santa_Pacifica, GreeneySilvery, Fandomwarriorqueen, ThatBoringOne, filidoune, XOX_Eternity_XOX and AlluraBelle! 😊  
> 
> 
> Jealous? Harry? Never! And Draco oblivious? Never ever! 🙄 Except when it's about himself, maaaaybe.

“Malfoy! A word?”

Draco, whose arms were laden with self-pressuring bandages, looked over his shoulder to see who was idiotic enough to come to St. Mungo’s for a talk on Valentine’s Day. It was Coach Greyson.

“Which one of your idiots is injured now?” Draco asked, walking on so that Greyson was forced to follow him.

“Nobody, that’s my point,” said Greyson brusquely, falling into step.

“Perfect. Come back tomorrow. Or send an owl.” Draco unloaded the bandages on his supply cart and then added, “But _not_ yours!” He really didn’t need that wretched beast in his house.

“Tomorrow is too late.”

“Tough luck,” Draco said shortly. “But if you keep me any longer, it will be too late for my patient.” He wheeled the cart into the treatment room and closed the door in Greyson’s face.

Greyson was still there when a mediwitch pushed Draco’s patient to her room half an hour later.

“Coach Greyson,” Draco said, looking at his chart instead of him. “Didn’t I tell you to go away?”

“I need to talk to you.” Greyson sounded pretty agitated by now. Draco guessed that he didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Come back when your wife has bashed your head in with a cauldron because you forgot to give her chocolates. Maybe then I’ll have time for you.”

Draco touched his wand to the name and then scanned the trauma ward for the unlucky bastard who had made that mistake. He was pretty hard to miss with the cauldron still sticking out of his head.

Draco flagged down a mediwitch and pointed at his patient. “Get me someone from Potions for bed seven. I need a consult on the contents of that cauldron.”

“It’s about Potter.”

What Draco _wanted_ to say: _‘Alright. Come back tomorrow. Or send an owl. But definitely not yours.’_

What he actually said: “What about him?” He tried to tell himself that he at least sounded indifferent.

“He missed practice today.” Greyson stared at him as if that was his fault.

“Obviously,” Draco said coldly. “He’s concussed. As I informed you yesterday via owl.”

“You have to talk to me first before signing a sick note for one of my players.”

Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest and asked sceptically, “What for?”

“So we can talk about upcoming matches and my training schedule,” Greyson said resolutely, crossing his arms as well.

“And how exactly will me knowing about your schedule change anything about your players’ health?”

“That’s how it’s done, Malfoy,” Greyson pressed out. “That’s how Dayal did it and that’s how we will keep doing it.”

“That’s how Dayal almost killed Potter,” Draco said coolly. “I don’t take orders from you. You are neither my boss nor a Healer. Take it to Chief Cortez if you must. But don’t expect her to agree with you on this, because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Greyson tried to stare him into submission. Draco stared back. He had learned to endure under his crazy Aunt Bella, after all. This was a walk in the park.

“Potter will be back on Thursday,” Draco said resolutely. “Don’t you have something better to do on Valentine’s Day?”

There was an angry vein popping up on Greyson’s neck and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Draco got a sudden image – Greyson embracing a woman, who was clutching a letter in her hands and appeared to be crying.

Draco broke the eye contact instantly. He wanted nothing to do with Greyson’s private life, however bleak it might be. If he was lucky, Greyson hadn’t noticed the connection – Draco wasn’t willing to tell people he was a Legilimens. That wouldn’t exactly make patients trust him. His left forearm was itching, but Draco kept himself from rubbing it.

Greyson gestured at him with a closed fist. “This isn’t over!”

“I can hardly wait.” Draco left him standing there and went over to his patient and his cauldron.

~o~

Draco was dead on his feet, and it was only half past eight. He felt so drained that he couldn’t even muster the energy to Apparate. He took the Floo home, which really was saying a lot about his condition.

Harry was asleep on his sofa, Aurelius half on top of him. When Draco stepped out of his fireplace, he slowly began to stir and his eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” he said, smiling softly.

Draco lay down next to Harry on the sofa and pulled him into his arms. It was a little crowded, but Draco was too tired to care. Harry didn’t protest either, maybe because he still was half asleep. Aurelius acted like this didn’t concern him.

“I hate Quidditch,” Draco mumbled, burying his face in Harry’s minty-fresh hair.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed drowsily.

“Greyson ambushed me at Mungo’s.”

“He sent me four owls,” Harry muttered.

“I think he threatened me a little.”

“Fourth one was a Howler.”

“He’ll probably be back at Mungo’s tomorrow.”

“Came here to escape Odysseus.”

“Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a sigh of relief.

“Hey, do you maybe hate Valentine’s Day, too?” Draco asked hopefully.

Harry started stroking his hair slowly. “You have no idea.”

“Did somebody try to slip you love potion?” Draco suggested. That certainly was popular on Valentine’s Day.

“Not recently,” Harry said, yawning at the same time. “You?”

Draco snorted. “Nobody in their right mind would ever try to make _me_ love them. Let’s see … Did you ever get attacked with a copy of _‘Bewitch that Witch – How to charm your valentine’_?”

“That’s oddly specific,” Harry said, sounding a little more awake.

He turned onto his side so they were lying face to face. Aurelius just let it happen, slipping into the free space at Harry’s back. Draco was verging on the edge now, but as long as he held on to Harry, he was confident that they could make it work.

“And also a very heavy book. Enough to break your jaw. I’ll take that as a _‘No’_.”

Harry nodded and draped one arm around him, stroking his back. Draco rummaged through his memory of the day, but it was hard to pick favourites.

“I’m guessing nobody shrunk your prick either, because they found out you had three other girlfriends, all of whom you had lined up consecutive dates with?

“Not that I remember,” Harry said with a grin. “But I _am_ concussed, so what do I know?”

“Then what’s _your_ reason for hating Valentine’s Day?”

Harry grimaced. “ _If_ I ever dated Cho Chang – and that’s a _very_ big _‘if’,_ I’m entirely unsure about that – she broke up with me on Valentine’s Day. I’m definitely not unsure about the break-up-part. It was very clear.”

Draco laughed quite involuntarily. “Right, I forgot about that! You made her cry and then she left you at that horrible tea shop.”

“Great. You’ve heard,” Harry said tonelessly, but he kept stroking his back.

“The whole school heard about that.”

“Brilliant.”

“Almost made them forget about that poem Ginny sent you in second year.” Draco was chuckling so hard that he could barely speak. “‘ _His eyes are as green as_ –’”

Harry pushed him off the sofa, which Draco commented with a startled yelp that Aurelius ignored. The most useless service dog in history.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Harry leaned over the edge to look down on him, so (naturally) Draco grabbed him by the collar and pulled. He probably should have anticipated that Harry would land on top of him. _Nobody_ could have expected him to anticipate that Harry would stay there and make himself extra heavy.

“You’re crushing me,” Draco wheezed, trying to get his arms under Harry’s body so he could push him off.

“Please. It’s the least I can do,” Harry said like he was doing him a favour.

Draco tickled his sides, which made Harry squeak and grab both his hands to pin them above his head. Draco kissed him. Who knew how long they had until everything went to hell? He’d better take every chance he got.

Some of Harry’s weight was lifted, though he didn’t get off of him. Maybe Harry had realised that kissing was easier when they both were able to breathe properly.

Things got very hot very fast, which maybe had something to do with the fact that they had officially (well, as official as a secret relationship got, which was not at all) been dating for a week now, during which they had stayed fully clothed the entire time. Not necessarily Draco’s decision. He got the feeling that maybe Harry was trying to take it slow.

He himself thought that pining for Harry for months had already been taking it slow.

That was how Draco found himself pulling Harry’s t-shirt over his head in a hurry while Harry tried to keep kissing his neck (which was exactly as impossible as it sounded). Maybe Draco shouldn’t have pulled the guy with the concussion from his sofa. In hindsight, that had been a pretty dismal medical decision.

He finally managed to free Harry’s mob of hair from his t-shirt and was promptly smacked in the face by Harry’s necklace.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Harry got up and pulled something out of his pocket, still breathing heavily. Draco was not a fan.

He sat up with his back against the sofa as Harry knelt down beside him and then leaned over and put something around Draco’s neck.

It was a tiny golden orb on a thread of silver. Draco grabbed Harry’s own pendant – silver wings on a golden thread – and held them next to each other.

“Is that –”

“Yep.”

Harry was wearing the wings that had killed him, shrunken down considerably. And instead of repairing the Snitch, he was giving the other half to Draco.

“You found the wings and gave them to me,” Harry tried to explain. He seemed to be kind of embarrassed – one hand was glued to his hair. “It seems only fair that you get something in exchange.”

“I thought you hate Valentine’s Day!” Draco complained. This was way too thoughtful! How was he supposed to compete with something like that?

“Well, I was told I was going to be bludgeoned with a copy of _‘Bewitch that Witch’_ if I forgot to bring a present,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “And my favourite Healer already clocked out, so …”

“That’s really cheesy,” Draco commented, punching Harry’s shoulder with one hand and fondling the tiny Snitch with the other. It was hardly bigger than a pea.

“I _know_ , right?” Harry laughed and ruffled his hair. “Want me to take it back?” He held out a hand that Draco slapped away.

“Don’t you _dare_ touch my kitsch!”

Harry laughed and kissed him again. Then he put his t-shirt back on, which seemed counter-intuitive to Draco. He was all for some more snogging and groping.

“I’ve made dinner. You hungry?”

“ _Nope,_ ” Draco said as his stomach rumbled right on cue. Traitor.

Harry laughed yet again and then pulled him to his feet. “Just to be clear, I didn’t cook this because it’s Valentine’s Day. I just got bored waiting for you, is all. So, don’t get any ideas for future holidays!”

“Cross my heart.” Draco put his wand over his heart for emphasis and sat down at the table, where Harry had placed a warming charm over steak with mashed potatoes and vegetables.

“Oh, so when I do it, warming charms _‘screw up the texture’_ , but when you do it, it’s all peachy?”

“Shut up and eat,” Harry said, ending his charm. “So, what did Matt want from you?”

“I thought you want me to shut up?” Draco said, getting started on his plate.

“I liked you better with my tongue down your throat,” Harry complained with a full mouth.

Draco didn’t know why a tongue should shut him up while Harry himself couldn’t be silenced by a tongue-sized piece of steak. He was kind of glad that he never would have to officially introduce Harry to his parents.

“Me too.”

Draco took pity and told him about his encounter with the Coach. Harry didn’t seem all that happy to hear that Greyson had apparently meddled with their medical business in the past. Draco noticed because he took an unnaturally long time to chew his steak. Then he seemed to come to a decision.

“Well, Oliver Wood was just the same. Quidditch always came first; that’s how it is. And Matt played professionally himself. He was a really good Chaser before the war. So it’s no wonder he’s a _little_ intense. He just cares about the team. Dayal should have stood up for us and put Matt in his place. That’s his job as Healer, right?”

“Well, it certainly was wrong to give in to Greyson’s demands,” Draco said slowly.

“Exactly.” Harry gave him a relieved smile and then frowned down at Draco’s plate. “Is something wrong with the steak?”

“No?” Draco looked down at the half of his steak that was still there. “Why would it be?”

“Don’t you like steak?”

“Don’t be stupid, who doesn’t like steak?”

“But you still haven’t eaten it. You’re just eating the potatoes ... and brussels sprouts.”

“You leave the best for last, you idiot.”

“What?” Harry looked confused. “Why would you do that?”

Draco shook his head in the face of such ignorance. “So you can finish your meal on a high note, of course.”

“What if it’s gone later?”

“Why would it be gone?” Draco said, now confused as well.

“I don’t know,” Harry said distractedly, “Magpies?”

“ _Magpies?_ ”

“Yeah, they’re a thing.”

“ _Where?_ ”

Harry shrugged helplessly, apparently rather unhappy about where the conversation was going. “Australia, I guess.”

Meaning his Australian ex-girlfriend must have told him that. No, Draco wasn’t jealous, thanks. He knew perfectly well that Harry was allowed to talk about things like that.

“You know this is not Australia, right?”

Harry laughed, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it this time. “Forget I said anything. Must be the concussion talking.”

Draco still guarded his steak like a hawk until it was gone completely, and then helped clean the table.

Afterwards, Harry took something from his pocket and unshrunk it to reveal a small bag. Draco shot him a questioning look, to which he replied, “Oh yeah, FYI: I’m staying over tonight.”

Draco had no illusions that this had sexy reasons – Harry was probably expecting another Howler or two at home. Not that Draco would have tried to start something while Harry still had his concussion. After all, he himself had forbidden him from exercising.

When Draco joined him in the bedroom after brushing his teeth, Harry had already claimed the side of Draco’s bed that was closer to the door, which left him with the window side. Draco didn’t care one way or the other – he usually lay smack in the middle. Not like anybody ever slept beside him.

Harry had already placed his wand on the bedside table. Draco cast a _Protego_ on himself and then put his own wand aside as well.

“Ha ha,” said Harry drily. His arms went right through the shield as he pulled Draco into his arm, so they both were lying in the middle. “You may have noticed that I didn’t blast you when you came home.”

“Must have been the concussion. Or Lee,” Draco said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, right next to the scar. “I’m not taking any chances. I really don’t want you to Apparate me to Mungo’s while you’re concussed.”

Harry squeezed him, as if that were a punishment. It definitely wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, now I’m curious to know what your favourite part was so far. 😊


	34. Always Darkest Before Dawn [Thursday, February 24th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been working in the garden all day and my hands fucking hurt, so I’ll make it quick! 😉 
> 
> Big thanks to: ZanyNY, Superfan1224, Fan, Kiwicustard191, night, ThatBoringOne, serilla, illindalenti, Aixa_Shadow, XOX_Eternity_XOX, filidoune and Amber Rose!
> 
> Glad you guys liked the last one!

If anybody could celebrate his birthday on a Thursday night, it was Blaise Zabini. What was more – people would actually attend. Rich, influential, beautiful people. Oh, and _Draco_ was there too, which was probably Blaise’s greatest feat. But even Blaise’s power of persuasion seemed to have its limits. No matter what he’d offered, Harry had flat out refused to come as himself.

Which was why Draco was leaning against a wall next to a thirty-something blond guy wearing Harry’s emerald silk dress shirt, which didn’t bring out his eyes at all, because they were now a boring grey. Draco couldn’t even complain about it, because Ginny was standing on Harry’s other side, and they hadn’t exactly _told_ anybody yet. Draco got the feeling that Harry hated being the centre of attention, even if it was his family.

“Don’t know why he has to invite all these people,” Ginny said under her breath while she took three Chocolate Snitches from a plate that floated by and handed one to each of them. “He doesn’t even _like_ half of them.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” said Draco, unwrapping his Snitch and finding Sophia Grant, Seeker for Puddlemere, staring up at him. “They’re influential people, you’re not _supposed_ to like them. You’re supposed to stroke their ego so they’ll do you favours later.”

“Disgusting,” said Harry, making no effort at all to keep his voice down. It was hard to tell if this was directed at Timothy McCarthy’s card in his hand or what Draco had said. “ _Oh_ _no_.”

And that was all the warning they got before Slughorn descended upon them not a second later.

“Miss Weasley!” Her hand was in his before either of them could do so much as blink, and then he was already performing an elaborate bow in front of her. “What a very nice surprise to see you here. But then again, I heard your liaised with dear Blaise, of course? A very good match, indeed. Though I must admit I was most saddened to hear that you and Harry separated.”

“Yeah, well,” said Ginny casually, gesturing with the card picturing herself. “Wasn’t meant to be. It was a long time ago and we’ve moved on, so no harm done, really.”

Slughorn laughed deeply. Several people turned around to look for the source, which was probably the effect Slughorn had wanted to achieve. Certainly couldn’t hurt to be seen laughing with Ginny Weasley, even if all she could muster was a half-hearted grin.

“Always telling it like it is,” Slughorn said with a chuckle. “Just the other day I told one of my students, Gwendolyn Worthington, how refreshing it is to talk to you. You might know her mother, Glenda Worthington? She’s lead-designer at Spudmore Brooms. Practically developed the Firebolt Gold single-handedly, you know.”

Draco exchanged a look with Harry, who also seemed to suspect where this was going.

“I didn’t know you were still teaching,” Ginny said, maybe to distract him from what he was preparing to ask.

Slughorn gave another booming laugh that turned heads. “Oh no, my dear girl. I really should stop calling them my students. I’m keeping a small club, you see? Just a small get-together once a month, an occasion for former and current students from various schools to socialise.”

Ginny nodded and emptied her drink, probably so she wouldn’t be forced to come up with a reaction.

“Sounds like a great opportunity for your students,” said Draco, because honestly, it was getting awkward just standing there and listening to their conversation.

Slughorn chuckled in his direction and then did a double take, like he only just recognised him. “ _Draco Malfoy_ , my dear boy! I’ve been meaning to write to you, you know? My congratulations on your recent appointment!” 

Draco knew that his surprise was written all over his face, not least of all because Harry was smirking at him like the bastard he was.

“Thank you,” he said, faking confidence as he took Slughorn’s offered hand and shook it.

“Oh, I’ve just had the most marvellous idea,” said Slughorn, boding ill. “You should both come to my next function. It will be ever so delightful. You simply _must_ meet Amara Giordano. Her mother is Eloise Giordano –”

“– the inventor of the dragon pox vaccine?”

“The very one,” said Slughorn, apparently satisfied with Draco’s enthusiasm. “Amara is determined to follow in your footsteps, so to speak. She wants to become a Healer for the Italian National Team. I’m sure she would love a chance to talk to you.”

“I’ll be there,” Draco said eagerly.

Slughorn beamed at him. Harry and Ginny both looked at him in disbelief and (in Harry’s case) very thinly veiled disgust. They smoothed their expressions when Slughorn turned his attention to Ginny again.

“How about you, Miss Weasley? Miss Worthington would surely be delighted to meet you. She’s aspiring to play for England, you know? And she knows an awful lot about brooms, that’s for sure.”

“I’m really busy right now,” said Ginny vaguely, stepping on Draco’s foot as if by accident (which was a real feat, because Harry was still standing between them). “But I’ll see if I can make time. Just owl me the date.”

“Splendid!” Slughorn actually clapped his hands in delight. “Now all we’re missing is Harry! It’s just too bad he isn’t here. From what I’ve heard I was sure he would be!”

Draco glanced over at Harry, who had actually taken a casual step back when Slughorn had mentioned his name. He was glaring at Draco again, and Draco looked away quickly.

“What did you hear, Sir?”

“Oh ho ho,” chuckled Slughorn. “Of course this won’t be news to _you_ , Draco. You see, I have heard that our dear Blaise has enlisted two star players to help with the development of his newest model.” Slughorn actually winked at Ginny at the last part.

“Well,” said Ginny non-committally, “Harry had plans already.”

“You don’t say,” said Slughorn, clearly interested. “You wouldn’t happen to know what kind of plans that are? A new girlfriend perhaps?”

If Slughorn heard Harry’s annoyed groan, he chose to ignore it. More likely was that he was simply ignoring Harry’s uninteresting person entirely.

Ginny shook her head instantly, probably used to this kind of questions by now. “He’s watching his godson, that’s all.”

“Ah well,” said Slughorn. “I wouldn’t _tell_ anyone, of course. I only ask because I have the loveliest lady in mind, and I would be _delighted_ if I could introduce them. But maybe one of you could extent my invitation to Harry? It’s strange, you know? Whenever I send an owl it seems to get lost.”

Both Ginny and Draco glanced at Harry, who simply shrugged as if to say _‘You do what you can’_. Slughorn noticed none of this, focusing his attention on Ginny instead.

“Oh, well …” she said slowly, clearly in need of a good excuse and coming away empty-handed.

“I don’t know if that’s the most sensible idea,” Draco said. “What with Giordano there and all. His grandparents died of dragon pox, you see? It wouldn’t be very nice to remind him.” There, Harry could thank him later.

“Of course!” Slughorn seemed rather taken aback. “However could I forget? I knew Fleamont and Euphemia quite well, you know? We were at Hogwarts together. That was before Fleamont invented Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, of course. We corresponded a great deal during the development stage, that much I can tell you. Fleamont was a gifted Potioneer, of course, but still always appreciative of my professional opinion. I was most saddened when I heard about their deaths. And within days of each other too.”

Draco turned to Harry to give him a winning grin, since it didn’t seem that Harry would have to turn up at Slughorn’s soiree.

Harry was gone.

Slughorn didn’t even seem to have noticed, but Ginny kept glancing to the left, eyebrows drawn together. Draco nearly went after him and only just caught himself at the last second. That would simply be way too suspicious.

“Excuse me,” said Ginny, and then she followed after Harry.

Slughorn seemed disappointed. “A friend of yours?”

Draco merely shrugged, preoccupied with figuring out what had gone wrong just now.

“Not very talkative, is he?” As if Slughorn had even _tried_ talking to him. “Lacks some manners, too.”

“Don’t we all?” said Draco absentmindedly, eyes following Harry and Ginny until they disappeared into the hallway.

Slughorn laughed way too loudly. “My dear boy, I’m sure your manners are much better than most people’s. Although I do seem to recall an instance quite a few years back, when you tried to sneak into one of my Christmas parties.”

Draco refrained from telling him that he had actually been trying to sneak into the Room of Requirement to work on his murder plot. These kinds of revelations usually dampened the mood. “Please, Sir, don’t remind me.”

“No need to be embarrassed, Draco. It’s always nice to know that people enjoy my parties. And you’re quite welcome to attend as many of my parties as you’d like.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

And then Ginny was back, shoulders set tightly and the Harpies’ Seeker in tow. “Sorry, Professor, I’ve got to borrow Draco for a bit. But I’ve been told you haven’t met Georgina Thompson yet?”

She grabbed Draco’s arm before Slughorn even finished saying, “I haven’t had the pleasure yet,” and dragged him towards the door.

“I don’t appreciate being hauled away like this,” Draco said cooly.

Her grip on his upper arm tightened. “Well, then maybe try not to upset Harry next time!”

“ _Me?_ What did _I_ do?”

“He didn’t _tell_ me. He never tells anybody; he likes sulking way too much.”

“So how do you know it’s _my_ fault?”

“I asked him if it was something Slughorn said and he said no; so that only leaves you, because I didn’t say anything.”

They were nearly at the door now. “And now you want me to do what?”

Ginny breathed out heavily. “Fix it, I don’t know.”

“How do you expect me to fix it if he won’t say what’s gotten his knickers in a twist?”

“He responds to being insulted, so you shouldn’t have any difficulties.”

And then she pushed him through the door and shut it behind him. Harry was leaning against a wall, arms crossed tightly. He only raised his eyebrows at Draco, but didn’t say anything.

“So, Ginny said you were sulking. Want to tell me what that’s about?”

Harry opened his mouth in outrage. It somehow looked less impressive with the glamour. “I’m not _sulking_!”

“Right,” said Draco, pointing at him, “because that’s your party face.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Original. So what, did you _want_ to go to Slughorn’s stupid party?”

“You think that’s what this is about?”

“Well, quite frankly, I wouldn’t know, because you keep bitching at me instead of talking about it like the fucking adult you’re supposed to be.”

“Just fuck off.” Harry kicked off the wall and made for the door, but Draco stepped into his way before he could reach it. Harry’s wand slipped into his hand instantly. “Let me go.”

“ _Then_ what? Two weeks? That’s gonna be it?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “I’m not going to talk about that here.”

“No, you’d rather run away and sulk some more.”

For a moment Draco thought Harry was going to hex him, but then his hand was around his arm instead and they Apparated with a massive _CRACK_ that must’ve been audible throughout the whole house.

~o~

Harry took off his glamour as soon as they arrived at his house. Draco threw his cloak at the wardrobe, not caring if it stayed there. Those three fucking jumps hadn’t brightened his mood and he was also more interested in finding out if he still had a relationship. Seventeen days – that had to be a new record.

“Hey!” Potter exclaimed angrily. He snatched Draco’s cloak from the leftmost hook and threw it at his head forcefully. He was _definitely_ still in a bad mood.

“What’s your fucking problem, Malfoy?!”

“ _My_ problem? You’re one to talk, Potter! Stop throwing stuff at me!” Draco yelled back. “Maybe we should finally talk about _your_ problems! You seem to have a lot of them!”

“ _You’re_ my problem!” Potter yelled even louder. “You’re a fucking slob!”

“I’m just not as _obsessed_ as you! What difference does it make whether my cloak is on the left, right or middle hook?!”

Draco motioned to hang his cloak back on the left hook – the one closest to the door and therefore reserved for Harry’s Invisibility Cloak – out of spite.

He was vaguely aware that they were leaving the original argument behind completely, but he didn’t care as long as they were screaming at each other. Better this than that passive-aggressive bullshit.

“A huge one!” Potter snarled, seizing his wrist before he could reach the wardrobe.

“That so?!” Draco said angrily, pushing Potter away with his free hand, hard. “Please, enlighten me! Will the wardrobe collapse? Will the house burn down? Will someone _die_ because of my cloak?”

“They might!” Harry exploded, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming his back against the door so hard it rattled in its frame.

They were both panting, staring at each other. Harry looked as if he would give anything to be able to take it back. Draco felt like he’d just got slapped in the face. Draco’s cloak was now on the floor, which meant he must have let go of it at some point.

“What do you mean?” he asked as softly as somebody who had just been bodyslammed by their maybe-still-boyfriend could muster (not very).

“Never mind,” Harry said brusquely, letting go of him immediately. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did.”

“ _No_ , I didn’t. Why would I? That’s absurd!”

“Because you’ve been at war for so long, you don’t even know how to be at peace anymore,” Draco said harshly. “You’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Harry looked at him, crestfallen. Then he turned around abruptly, storming up the stairs two steps at a time. Draco followed after him immediately and grabbed his hand as soon as he caught up to him in front of the bedroom.

“ _Listen_.”

Harry regarded him with a hard look. “What do _you_ know about me?”

Draco took a deep breath. Here they went.

“You hold on to a house you hate. You can hardly sleep without knocking yourself out first. But you can’t really do _that_ either, because then you’d be easy prey. You’re paranoid as fuck. Nobody’s after you anymore, but you’re still on the run.”

Harry’s voice was trembling with rage. “You don’t _know_ who’s out there!”

“You’re right, I don’t! Because it’s _not_ You-Know-Who. Nobody is out to get you, Harry. Not anymore.”

“So what, did I imagine getting fucking _poisoned_?”

Shit. So maybe Draco _had_ forgotten all about that. Not that it hadn’t been horrible, but Harry was acting so insane sometimes that it was rather hard to see that maybe a small fraction of it was actually justified.

Draco shook his head to try and clear his thoughts. His free hand was clenched into a fist, and he forced himself to release it. The scar left by the Dark Mark itched horribly and Draco was glad that his other hand was occupied and he couldn’t just rub it automatically. If he couldn’t stay calm, how could he expect Harry to do it?

Merlin, Draco didn’t know what to say. He was afraid that anything he said would just make it worse, but the longer he hesitated, the less believable his words would become.

“There’s a line. Yes, you should be mindful out there, when there are people you don’t know or trust. Do your three jumps, if you must. But in here? You don’t need a designated spot for everything. What do you think could happen? Nobody’s going to get in and go through your stuff.”

Draco briefly debated telling him that hypothetical intruders would actually have an _easier_ time covering up their tracks when everything was neat and tidy, because every little alteration would be obvious. But he doubted that it would help. It wasn’t like Draco actually expected people to get in, so there was no need for even more defence.

And who knew what else Harry would come up with if he realised his method had flaws? Maybe he’d go over to purposeful messiness and start photographing everything before he left the house. And comparing those with the state of the house when he came back would literally take hours.

“What’s so bad about being cautious?” Harry asked defiantly. “I’m not hurting anyone.”

“Yes, you are! You can’t keep going like this. You’re not cautious, you’re completely obsessed! You’re safe here.”

Draco was overstepping; he knew. They weren’t even together for three whole weeks – it wasn’t Draco’s place to put him on the spot like that. When had he started to act before he thought?

“I don’t know … they got in before.” Harry shot a look at number twelve across the street.

Well, it was too late to change course now. Malfoys didn’t do things by halves. If he started doing that, he had already lost.

“I promise you they won’t,” Draco said, pulling Harry closer by the hand he was still holding. “Just try not to worry too much. You survived.”

There was no humour in Harry’s burst of laughter. “Sure, I’ll just _‘not worry’,_ then. No big,” he said harshly. “This is all obviously just one very big mistake waiting to be corrected, but I’ll just _not worry_ about it. I shouldn’t be here. I should be dead ten times over. But I won’t _worry_.”

“Fuck that!” Draco grabbed both his shoulders and slammed him against the bedroom door, just like Harry had done to him downstairs; he just couldn’t help it. Soft words obviously would do nothing here. Fuck staying calm.

The words had barely left his mouth when Harry brought up both arms in between Draco’s, slammed his elbows back down into the crook of Draco’s arms, breaking Draco’s grip on him, and then grabbed one of his arms, twisted it onto his back and pressed him against the door face first – all in under three seconds.

Harry’s voice was just a low growl against Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t _ever_ do that again!”

Draco struggled some, but all it did was twist his arm even further, and he stopped after just a few seconds, deciding to growl back instead, even if his face was squashed against the door. “You’re _not_ going to fucking die!”

“You keep saying that like that makes it true!”

Now Draco was yelling, and that definitely wasn’t helping either. “It’s been six years! You fucking killed him! You-Know-Who’s _dead_!”

And Harry yelled back, completely in a rage now, the rigid line of his body pressed against Draco’s, “You want me to stop worrying when _you_ can’t even say his fucking name?!”

Draco opened his mouth, fully prepared to just say it, scream it back into Harry’s metaphorical face – and nothing happened. The words never even made it across his tongue, dying somewhere in his throat and producing just a low whine.

“Just fucking say it!” Harry yelled desperately, and his voice broke too. “ _VOLDEMORT_!”

Draco took a heaving breath, and his chest felt too tight, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. All he could do was whisper, “ _I can’t._ ” His eyes were burning and he fought desperately to keep it together.

But then Harry let go of his arm, slung his arms underneath Draco’s and across his chest, buried his face between his shoulder blades. He was shaking and something hot and wet blossomed at Draco’s back. And then Draco couldn’t hold back his own tears either.

Merlin, why did they have to be so fucked up?

It took several minutes until Harry stopped shaking, until Draco felt like he could breathe again. Harry released him hesitantly, stepping away to give him space to turn around and look at him. He looked just as pathetic as Draco felt.

“We won’t stay this messed up forever. We can do it. I _know_ we can.” Draco said quietly. “Just at least _try_ to relax a little. Maybe let your friends help from time to time. You don’t have to pretend to be strong all the time. Nobody expects that from you.”

Harry just growled silently, breathing unsteadily. At least he did not argue anymore or deny there was something that needed working on.

“You should, however, keep on Samantha. Your fans are barmy,” Draco muttered and Harry laughed shakily.

“This is really embarrassing,” Harry said, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his dress shirt before Draco could stop him.

“Don’t!” Draco groaned. “That’s Hawtrey and Humphreys.”

That certainly seemed to take Harry’s mind off things. He gave him a look that Draco couldn’t read and then started to unbutton it. “So … you want me to take it off?”

Well, if that wasn’t a rather unexpected turn of events. But Draco would take it. Anything to move forward from this absolute disaster.

Draco scoffed. “Nice try, Potter. You still haven’t told me what pissed you off so much in the first place.”

“Are you _sure_ you want to talk about that right now?”

Harry stretched out a hand, but instead of touching Draco, he pushed open the door behind him. He opened another button with the other hand at the same time. Draco forgot all about whatever they had just been talking about. And then Harry grinned at him, eyes still a little red but also the most beautiful thing Draco had ever seen, and Draco couldn’t help but close the gap and kiss him, helping him take off that stupid shirt at the same time.

And then Harry’s hands were on his chest and he was being pushed backwards into the room until his legs hit the bed, and then Harry grinned into the kiss and pushed.

Draco only protested a little bit when Harry threw the shirt in a laundry bin – didn’t he know that designer shirts couldn’t just be washed? He didn’t protest at all when Harry placed a knee on either side of Draco and started to undo his shirt. He didn’t get a chance to take it off, because then Draco pulled him as close as possible and kissed him again, maybe a little bit too roughly.

“Am I fucking it up right now?” Harry whispered in between kissing and taking hasty breaths.

“Are you … what the fuck, Potter?” Draco pushed him away just an inch so he could look into his eyes. “This the opposite of fucking it up.”

“Okay, good,” mumbled Harry, and then they were kissing again. “I honestly have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never been serious with a guy before.”

“Less talking,” whispered Draco, hands spreading all over his chest. Merlin, this was almost too much. He felt like his heart could give out any moment now and it wouldn’t even come as a surprise.

“I just don’t want to rush it,” Harry muttered regardless, struggling with one of Draco’s shirt buttons. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Draco whispered. “Now shut up.”

And then he made him by pushing him onto his back and kissing his neck and collarbone, which seemed to render Harry utterly speechless.

They kept clinging to each other tightly, so much so that Draco was amazed that they managed to take off their trousers at all. He didn’t even get the chance to take off his shirt (not that it mattered, since it wasn’t Hawtrey and Humphreys) before they were really going at it, and then he instantly forgot about it.

Harry stayed on top of him afterwards, stroking his sides lazily. Draco was sure that he would doze off any moment now, when his hand trailed off underneath Draco’s open shirt and brushed over one of his scars. They were barely noticeable, but still there.

It was a disaster. Of course it was, because what else could have happened on a fucking wreck of a day like this?

Harry went completely still above him, his hand pressed to Draco’s chest.

“Don’t,” Draco muttered desperately, just so damn tired of the constant flow of drama. Just when things were starting to go right again.

Harry looked up at him, mouth open in shock and green eyes wide. And – without meaning to – Draco fell in. Maybe it was because they had just been together, because the lines were still blurred. In this moment, Draco couldn’t quite tell where he ended and Harry began and he saw … _everything_.

There they were, standing beside one another inside Madam Malkin’s and Draco was mocking Hagrid. This couldn’t be his own memory, because Draco hadn’t even realised until now that this – and not their meeting on the Hogwarts Express – had been their first encounter.

And suddenly he saw himself, sitting in the common room and telling Crabbe and Goyle that he was hoping Granger would be the one to die by Slytherin’s monster. But where had Potter (he hadn’t been _‘Harry’_ back then) been at that time? He wasn’t there with them, so where did this memory come from?

His arm was bandaged and he was making Potter and Weasley do his preparations in Potions.

He was laughing about that Hippogriff’s impending death and Granger was punching him in the face.

He was lying in a heap on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, tangled with Crabbe, Goyle and Flint while McGonagall was yelling at them furiously.

He was attacking Potter, who had turned his back on him, and suddenly there was Moody, turning him into a ferret, bashing him against the floor and ceiling over and over again.

He was in the dungeons, wearing a glowing, bright green badge, and Granger was hit by his spell, causing her teeth to grow rapidly.

He was tripping Potter, who was leaving the Room of Requirement at a sprint.

He was in Umbridge’s office, watching her threaten Potter with a fucking Unforgiveable Curse while he held on to Potter’s wand, a hungry look in his eyes.

He was talking to Borgin about the Vanishing Cabinet, threatening him with the Mark and Greyback. But again, Potter was nowhere to be seen. And why did it seem that he was looking at himself through a silvery veil?

He was in their compartment on the way to school, boasting about the job _He_ had given him. How naive he had been back then, how _stupid_ , thinking himself important, honoured to have been given such an important task by the Dark Lord himself. He noticed the silvery tint again and it dawned on him that Potter had been invisible then. The Cloak must have been shrouding his view.

He was petrifying Potter and breaking his nose, then covering him with the Invisibility Cloak again.

Potter was lying on his bed in Gryffindor Tower, staring at a parchment obsessively while Weasley was shooting him worried glances. How much time had he spent in front of that map?

Katie Bell was suspended in air, screaming like somebody was using the _Cruciatus_ on her, and Draco’s stomach turned violently.

Weasley was twitching on the floor, foaming at the mouth, while Slughorn stood by uselessly and Potter ravaged his potions kit.

The sixth-floor corridor, over and over and over again, shrouded in silver. The only ones there were Crabbe and Goyle, polyjuiced, and the occasional passer-by.

And then there it was, at last. Potter was entering the sixth-floor boys’ bathroom, where Draco stood at the sink, a nervous wreck. Was it shock that showed on Potter’s face when he saw him there? They were looking at each other in the mirror, his own face contorting furiously. Draco was attacking, Potter defending himself.

“ _Crucio_!” Draco was yelling and Potter was dodging and yelling, “ _Sectumsempra!_ ”

And it was hitting him square in the chest, slicing him open. And his blood was mingling with the water from a smashed sink, painting the floor red where he was lying, while Potter was dropping to the ground beside him, horror in his eyes.

And Draco believed he hadn’t known what the curse would do. He looked at himself impassively. Potter hadn’t known, but Draco _had_. He had tried to use an Unforgiveable Curse on him, for what? Seeing him in a weak moment? _Spying_ on him?

He squeezed his eyes shut and the connection was broken. He could feel Harry collapse onto the bed next to him.

Draco’s heart was racing and his mind was spinning fast. What had they been thinking? That they could forget everything that had happened between them? That their past didn’t matter because they weren’t trying to kill each other any longer?

They had managed to deceive themselves for a while but here they were. Harry had remembered why he hated him and Draco couldn’t blame him.

He got up slowly and put on his pants and trousers. When he turned to face the bed, Harry was looking at him.

“Did you see –?”

“Yes. I didn’t mean to ... Don’t worry, I won’t come back,” Draco said, taking his wand and leaving the bedroom.

He was already at the stairs when he heard Harry yelling “Draco!” and scampering after him.

He kept going, but then Harry said, _“Malfoy,”_ and he stopped dead in his tracks.

They stood in the hallway, looking at each other, not saying anything. Harry was wearing his pants and nothing else and he looked small and unsteady. Finally, Harry crossed the space between them and took his wrist.

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”

“The rest? I don’t think I need to see any more of my greatest hits,” Draco said sombrely, but he stayed nonetheless. They were standing underneath the massive snake sigil in the ceiling, just in front of the sitting room.

Somewhere, a clock struck midnight and Harry looked up at the two entwined serpents.

And then he hissed at them and they opened their eyes simultaneously, uncoiling and slithering down to the floor, one of them twisting to form a staircase and the other a railing, finally going still again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger, I know!
> 
> But don't worry, I'll post the next chapter tomorrow morning (which will be in about twelve hours for me). 😉


	35. Pray for the Wicked [Friday, February 25th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to: Slytherinz_Ghost, Fandomwarriorqueen, Fan, filidoune, Evierosie02, Amber Rose, serilla, night, ThatBoringOne, Caterine2403 and illindalenti! 😊  
> As promised, the resolution to yesterday’s cliffhanger.  
> Title: Panic! At The Disco (I just love Brendon! ❤️)

The attic was dimly lit by a silver light that Draco mistook for moonshine at first. Then he realised that there weren’t any windows and the light was coming from a stone basin that was placed on a small pillar in the middle of the room.

He went over there slowly, closely followed by Harry, who may have been expecting him to turn tail and make a run for it.

“A Pensieve.” Draco’s voice sounded hollow even to him. “I don’t think I want to see.”

Harry’s eyes were gluing him to the spot. “Come on. You only saw half of it. The part where I try to justify what I did.”

“I tried to _Crucio_ you.” Draco couldn’t meet his eyes any longer, so he studied the runes around the Pensieve instead. He’d taken Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, but Draco had a hard time concentration on them now.

“I _know_. Believe me, I’ve thought about it a lot over the years.”

Before Draco could protest again, Harry placed his hands at opposite sides of the Pensieve. The surface swirled and then cleared to reveal a memory.

Slughorn’s Christmas party, and Draco had just been caught by Filch on his way to the Room of Requirement. Harry was watching the action unfold, eyes trained on Draco. His eyebrows were knit together, like he was trying to figure Draco out. Merlin, had he really looked that sickly? He didn’t have time to think about it, because then Pensieve-Harry followed them – him and Snape – to eavesdrop.

Draco turned to face Harry, raising an eyebrow. Harry just shrugged unapologetically and looked back into the Pensieve, which was currently changing memories.

Pensieve-Harry was watching him – in class (eyeing him from head to toe over the top of his book), in the corridors (barely listening to Granger and Weasley, who were practically dragging him along), in the Great Hall (picking at his food without once looking down at his plate). What was more – he seemed to have been stalking him. Pensieve-Harry checked his Map and then went running.

“Oh, yeah, no,” the real Harry muttered, waving at the Pensieve to change the memory again. “That wasn’t important, just forget that part.”

Pensieve-Harry reappeared in a bathroom. It wasn’t _that_ memory yet – he was in the company of Weasley and Moaning Myrtle, who told them about a boy who came there to cry his eyes out because he felt lonely and forsaken.

Draco closed his eyes in shame, and when he opened them again, it was time – Draco stood at the sink, crying in despair, telling Myrtle about how he would be killed if his plan failed. Draco’s heart clenched painfully at the memory. Pensieve-Harry seemed to have similar feelings. He certainly wasn’t basking in Draco’s misery.

Draco was afraid he’d have to watch himself attack Harry again, but the Pensieve skipped right over it.

The tower. Draco recognised the silvery veil of Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to watch it again, the culmination of his shame. He didn’t want to know that Harry had witnessed it.

Harry bumped his shoulder lightly. His voice was very gentle. “You didn’t do it. You never could’ve done it.”

Draco just shook his head. He felt Harry wave his hand at the Pensieve before it could get to the really miserable part.

There was a heavy thud, and Draco’s eyes flew open. Pensieve-Harry had fallen to his knees in a bathroom, clutching his head in apparent agony. The Pensieve swirled violently, flickered and then showed a terrified Draco standing over Rowle with his wand pointed down at him, the Dark Lord right beside him. Draco recognised that one in an instant because he still dreamt about it regularly.

“How?” he breathed.

Merlin, _no_. Draco wanted to forget that had ever happened. He didn’t want _Harry_ to know. The scar on his arm itched horribly, and Draco rubbed at it with the knuckles of his right hand.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Draco thought Harry was going to ruffle his hair, but then he touched his scar instead. He didn’t seem to want to explain.

The next memory was definitely one Harry had been there for, even if he hadn’t looked like himself at the time. He had been overgrown and underfed, his clothes tattered and dirty, face completely swollen.

Draco had recognised him in an instant. And still he watched himself beat around the bush as if he hadn’t, not even fully acknowledging Granger and Weasley, even though _their_ faces weren’t disfigured at all.

Harry skipped over the next part, lips tightly pressed together, and only watched briefly as his past self snatched the wands from Pensieve-Draco’s grip. “Too easy,” he muttered.

Draco wasn’t sure if this was still about showing Draco or about convincing himself.

The next memory came as a total surprise, as neither Harry nor Draco were in it. It showed Snape and Dumbledore in the Headmaster’s office instead.

 _“The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed,”_ Snape said morosely. _“This is merely punishment for Lucius’s recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.”_

 _“In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,”_ said Dumbledore.

The contents of the Pensieve swirled once and then settled on Snape and Dumbledore in his office again, though it seemed to be another night.

 _“I thought … all these years … that we were protecting him for her.”_ Snape paused to gather himself. _“For Lily.”_

So, this wasn’t about Draco anymore, but Harry. Draco wondered why Harry was showing him this.

Dumbledore’s eyes were closed, as if to shut himself away from the accusation in Snape’s voice. It seemed that he himself didn’t like what he was going to say.

_“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength. Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”_

Draco and Harry looked at each other, a kind of understanding passing between them.

They were two sides of the same coin – on opposite sides of the war, but both used by men who were more powerful, more calculating than them. Both of them had been set on a path to die on, and somehow still managed to live.

“This is the last one,” Harry said tonelessly as the scene vanished.

The surface of the Pensieve neither reformed nor turned into its misty form, but went black instead.

_“The boy … Is he dead?”_

A cold shiver ran down Draco’s back, and he grabbed Harry’s wrist without thinking about it. It was icy, almost deadly cold, but Draco held onto it where it was resting against the Pensieve.

 _“You.”_ There was a bang and Draco heard the unmistakeable sound of his mother shrieking in pain. He certainly knew what _that_ sounded like. _“Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”_

There was silence for a few seconds, then: _“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?”_ It was barely a whisper.

 _“Yes.”_ Harry’s voice.

_“He is dead!”_

Harry let go of the Pensieve as the cheers started, and the surface turned silver and smooth again. Draco didn’t let go of his hand.

“Figures that you would have a Pensieve,” Draco muttered, unable to voice the million other thoughts that were racing through his head.

“It was Dumbledore’s,” Harry said thoughtfully, tracing one of the runes.

“Dumbledore left you his Pensieve?”

“Not exactly …” Harry was biting his lip and avoiding his eyes.

“You _stole_ it?” Draco was aware that he sounded _way_ too excited and _definitely_ not appalled enough. Merlin, anything to keep from thinking about the things he had seen in the last ten minutes.

“There are some pretty dangerous memories in there! I couldn’t just leave them.”

Draco’s eyes flitted over to the Pensieve automatically.

“I showed you parts of them,” Harry said with a warning undertone. “I’m not going to show you any more. Knowing too much about this stuff is usually a sure-fire way to get yourself killed. I don’t especially want you to get murdered.”

Now Draco did let go of him and took a step back. “Why not? I did horrible things.” There wasn’t much emotion in his voice, or else he wouldn’t have been able to talk at all.

“Draco …” Harry said his name softly, but then he took a deep breath and continued in much more tense voice. “I made them keep Snape’s portrait at Hogwarts, and he was at least partially responsible for my parents’ death. He took out his bitterness on literal children. He outed Remus purely out of spite. He wouldn’t have cared if the dementors had gotten Sirius even if he was innocent. If I can find it in me to do that for _him_ , I sure as hell can for you. I’m not saying that all of what you did was justified, but I know not all of it was done of your free will. And you’ve done so many good things since the war.”

Draco didn’t know where to look, what to say. He wanted to be forgiven so badly, to be told that there was hope for him, but he didn’t know if it was possible. But then Harry took his hand and Draco looked into his eyes after all, and found nothing but sincerity there. He felt some of the tension leave his body and gave Harry a very weak smile.

“Let’s get some sleep. I don’t want to see you at Mungo’s tomorrow because you dozed off on your broom.”

He climbed down the stairs without looking back at the Pensieve. Harry was right behind him and closed the trapdoor with a hissed command. It was a relief to be away from that place, and even more so knowing that there was an unbreakable barrier between himself and the memories.

Draco had no desire to discuss what they had seen. That look had been enough for him.

Harry seemed to think so too, because he didn’t address what had happened but grabbed Draco around the middle instead. Then he carried him into the bedroom, practically throwing him onto the bed.

“Just in case you’re still planning to bail on me,” he said with a grin.

Draco kicked off his trousers and opened his arms. Harry snuggled up to him and then killed all the lights with a wave of his hand, safe for the golden orb on his bedside table.

If he thought he would get out of it that easily, Harry was sorely mistaken.

“So what, are you gonna tell me _now_? What I said at the party that ticked you off.”

Harry groaned and tightened his arms around Draco. “It’s really stupid.”

“Yes, I’m _aware_.”

Harry pinched his side. Then he angled his head downwards, so Draco couldn’t see his face anymore. “Alright ... God, it’s _really_ stupid. Fuck. Okay ... So …” A deep breath. “I was annoyed about the thing with my grandparents.”

Well, this certainly wasn’t what Draco had expected. He chose his next words carefully. “So … you were afraid people would know we’re seeing each other because I know about your family? Don’t worry; _everybody_ knows what happened to them. They were very well known.”

Harry breathed out heavily and looked up at him after all. There was defiance in his eyes. “ _I_ didn’t. Nobody ever told me how they died. There are all these people who know all about my family and they just – they just always _assume_ I know too. And I just don’t! I don’t know shit. Slughorn never even told me that he knew my grandparents. And then he turns around and uses them to impress random people.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to pinch Harry. “Did you just call me random?”

“I’m calling _myself_ random, you bloody moron! He didn’t know it was me he was telling all that stuff. I could be working for _Witch Weekly_ for all he knows.”

“That’s fair. So why did you tell Ginny that you weren’t upset because of Slughorn?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know. I was just angry. Guess I did expect something like that from him. Didn’t expect _you_ to bring them up.”

Draco mulled it over for a few seconds. Then he said, carefully, “Would you like me to tell you about them? I know about all the ancient families, not just the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call them that. _‘Sacred’_ , my arse.” Harry rearranged his head upon Draco’s chest before he continued, “What I want is for you to pretend the party never happened.”

“Fine,” Draco said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

Draco had almost drifted off to sleep when he had a sudden epiphany. He poked Harry’s shoulders urgently.

“I _told_ you I saw the snakes move.”

Harry growled sleepily. “Yeah, I know. Shut up.”

“You’re so extra, with your secret lair and all.” Draco kissed the top of his head, even if it undermined his own point. “So, what else was I secretly right about?”

Harry shut him up with a kiss, and that was almost as nice as being right.


	36. Euphoria [Friday, March 18th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the commenters: ZanyNY, Nike88, ThatBoringOne, Slytherinz_Ghost, filidoune, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Fan, Fandomwarriorqueen, Tula and Caterine2403! 🤗
> 
> Guess it’s time to have some fun again! 🍿

It was Father’s fifty-first birthday and Draco was sitting on the floor.

These two things had nothing to do with each other, of course – that would have been absurd. Nobody had ever sat on the floor of Malfoy Manor in its nine hundred years of existence – except for the dungeons maybe (but Draco was trying very hard to forget about those). Besides, he hadn’t talked to or heard from his parents in the past four years. He certainly wasn’t welcome to just stop by.

He was sitting on the floor because Ella and Callum’s apartment was chock-full of people and he had run late at the hospital. Harry had already been there – sandwiched between Ella and Olivia on The Best Couch – and just thrown a cushion at him when he came in. Draco had taken the last free spot, the one at Olivia’s feet and next to Hermione, who was sitting in front of Harry. Still better than enduring The Couch.

Hermione smiled as she handed him some popcorn in a paper bag. Two hands landed on his shoulder, and when Draco put his head back, he saw Olivia frowning down at him.

“Wow, you’re tense.” She started kneading his shoulders as Callum inserted the disc in his movie machine. “Have you thought about picking up yoga?”

“Kickboxing is also a great way to de-stress.” Lauren, who was sitting next to Olivia, punched his shoulder in emphasis.

“Forget it!” Oliva leaned forward and slung her arms around Draco’s neck, as if to claim him. “You’ve got Harry already, so I get Draco.”

“Silence!” Ella ordered. “It’s time to educate our clueless friends by showing them another classic – The Matrix.”

“When have you ever shut up during a movie?” Lauren tossed some popcorn at her, which got intercepted by Harry’s mouth.

“Yeah, look who’s talking!” he said while chewing. “Literally.”

“I’m an expert, which makes my commentary additional information.” Ella pressed a button and the movie started. “You’re welcome.”

The Matrix was wildly different from Mean Girls and Draco understood it even less than The Incredibles. He looked over at the other Pure-bloods from time to time, to see how they were holding up. It seemed that they had received some crucial information in the years before he had joined their group, because they seemed to be following the overall narrative. Only Ron seemed just as clueless as he was. His mouth stood open in confusion and his eyes glazed over a good fifteen minutes in.

“Well?” asked Ella as the screen turned black. “Wasn’t it _great_?”

“That was the loudest movie I’ve ever watched,” Draco said to get his involvement in the conversation out of the way. Harry snorted, for which Hermione put her hand on his foot discreetly and pressed down. Harry pulled his foot away and shut his mouth.

“I liked The Terminator better,” Dean Thomas said, munching on some popcorn.

“Well, then you’re an idiot,” Ella commented drily. “Luna tell your boyfriend that he’s nuts.”

“Oh, Dean and I broke up,” Luna said lightly, smiling at Dean, who was sitting right beside her. Several people made noises of protest and disbelief.

“It’s alright.” Dean sounded sincere. “We’ve been talking about it for a while. We want different things in life – that’s just the way it is.”

“But somebody here has good news.” Luna looked surprised, like she only came to know it as she said it.

She looked around, her eyes as big as two silvery moons. They caught on Draco for a second and then came to rest somewhere next to him. He could feel his stomach drop. Hermione shifted at his side and Draco just knew that Luna was staring at Harry behind her. So much for waiting to see if they worked out before telling people.

He turned his head to look at Harry, who seemed to be petrified. Olivia squeezed Draco’s shoulder lightly, maybe because she’d felt him tense up.

“Er … well …” said Harry.

“We’re having a baby!” Hermione burst out.

There was a second of silence during which Draco tried to understand how Harry and Hermione could possibly be having a baby. Then she took Ron’s hand, who beamed at her and kissed the top of her head, and Draco was glad he’d held his tongue.

Then everybody was talking at once and getting to their feet. They were shouting congratulations, hugging Hermione, Ron and each other as well. Harry had managed to get a hold of both Hermione and Ron at once, and crushed them in his arms simultaneously. Then he let go and turned around to hug the person closest to him, which happened to be Draco.

Their eyes met and then, before Draco could protest – people were right there! – Harry’s hand was on his neck and his lips on Draco’s. He tasted like popcorn and lemonade and happiness. Draco buried his fingers in Harry’s curls, not yet sure if he wanted to pull him _closer_ or pull his _hair_ for making such a scene in front of practically everybody they knew.

People seemed to have noticed, because the noise picked up a notch, though Draco wouldn’t have thought it possible. Somebody downstairs pounded against the ceiling – Draco could feel it in his feet.

Now Draco really did push Harry away, but then Olivia threw her arms around them and squished them back together. Harry protested feebly, even though he had just subjected his best friends to the same treatment and Draco to far worse.

“I think I just had a déjà vu,” Ginny commented, looking over at Dean, who laughed.

“When did that happen?!” Olivia half-screamed, grabbing Lauren’s arm and shaking her in excitement. Lauren just looked at her fondly.

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand, a guilty expression on his face. His own hand was almost warm, which was a clear sign that he too was probably a little embarrassed to be the centre of attention. Well, that definitely was on him.

“A good month and a half ago? But enough about that!” Harry freed himself and turned to look at Hermione, who was beaming at him. “Hermione, when did _that_ happen?”

“About four weeks ago,” Ron said proudly.

“Alright, order!” Lauren called above the noise. The neighbour pounded the ceiling again, but to no avail. She pulled a tiny phone out of her pocket and checked something.

Olivia looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Oooh, I almost feel bad for you all,” she giggled.

“Let’s see. The child will most likely be there in November. That’s fifteen pounds from Ginny, Harry, Neville and Callum. Dean, Luna and Ella: five pounds each. Pay up!”

Olivia and Lauren exchanged triumphant looks as the others scoured their pockets for some money. Hermione looked at Harry, both eyebrows raised expertly.

“You placed bets on our _child_?”

“That was ages ago!” Harry tried to justify his involvement.

Hermione seemed unimpressed. “You mean back when we were much younger and probably not ready for a baby?”

“Er –” Harry said, ruffling his hair. “Peer pressure?”

Hermione exchanged a look with Draco (who was apparently the only one who’d been as clueless as the happy couple) that clearly said _‘Can you believe him?’_ Right now, Draco could not.

Lauren collected the money and then split it between Hannah, Olivia and herself. Then she took out her phone again.

“Alright, moving on to the next item on our agenda.”

Harry paused his attempt at squeezing his wallet back into his jeans pocket. His eyes darted around in a very confused manner. “There aren’t any more active bets.”

Lauren ignored him. “Blaise, looks like you robbed us blind. That’s ten pounds each. Except for you, Ginny – October _2007_ , really? Blaise gets fifty pounds from you. Everybody, pay the man.”

Ginny just shrugged and tossed Blaise her wallet. “It did seem _pretty_ hopeless for some time there.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Harry protested. Then he turned suddenly, fixing Hermione (who had tried to slip Blaise her wager unnoticed) with an imitation of the look she had given him. “Hypocrite.”

“Oh Harry, I don’t see any harm in betting on something that makes you happy.”

Harry huffed in frustration. “ _Fine._ I want to change my earlier answer to this as well.”

Hermione patted his arm and said “Sure. So, what was your bet?”

“What was _your_ bet?” Harry was trying to see how much deviance was acceptable, which was probably smart, but not what Draco was interested in.

“ _When_ did you bet on this?”

“December 25th, around five in the morning.” Lauren winked at him. “Right before we hauled your cute butts all the way to our place.”

Draco refrained from checking out his butt and focused on the important things instead. Like how they’d apparently been waiting to sell Harry off to the next best candidate. “You’d only just met me then!”

“Yeah, but we wanted to keep you!” Olivia said like the sweetheart she was.

“Also, you were both _really_ drunk,” Callum added. “And it was kind of obvious.”

Blaise was stuffing a wad of cash into his wallet and managed to look at them reproachfully at the same time. “I can’t believe you kept it secret for a whole month. Well, not you, Draco, you’re a Slytherin, but Harry is usually really easy to read.”

“ _Slithering_?”

“Inside joke from boarding school. Means that Draco’s a reserved, calculating bastard,” Harry explained with a sly grin in his direction. Then he added, “I’m not ‘ _easy to read’!_ ”

Absolutely everybody laughed at that, so Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and huffed.

~o~

“Shorry.”

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry’s reflection in the bathroom mirror and spat out his mouth full of toothpaste before answering (because _he_ had manners and didn’t subject others to his foamy face while talking to them).

“Well, I honestly don’t know what I expected of you.”

Harry sighed and spat out too. He did absolutely nothing about the toothpaste running down his forearm. “I’m sorry. We should’ve talked about it before I told people.”

“ _Told_?” Draco’s laughter sounded just a bit hysterical. “If only you _had_ used your words.”

Now Harry was frowning too. He broke eye contact in the mirror and turned to face him for real. “Wait, so you’re not mad because they know?”

“You’re dripping on my floor,” said Draco calmly. Then, when Harry looked down to watch the dripple of toothpaste, he added, “I am displeased because you made a scene. That was highly inappropriate.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry crossed his arms, smearing toothpaste all across his stomach. “I can’t kiss you in front of our friends?”

Draco shook his head, even though his mind was drifting already. The streak of toothpaste was now underlining one of Harry’s delicately toned abs, the white line in glowing contrast with his warm skin, and Draco had serious trouble looking away.

“My eyes are up here, you know.”

Draco looked up at once. Harry was grinning at him, so Draco rolled his eyes and turned back around to rinse his mouth. “No kissing in public,” he said resolutely. “It’s simply not proper.”

“Proper?” The corners of Harry’s mouth were twitching. Draco could see it in the mirror. “What are you, a relic from Victorian times?”

To Draco’s disappointment, Harry didn’t even flinch when Draco flung some water at him. “ _I_ was raised with manners. Unlike others in this room.”

Harry looked at Aurelius, who was busy arranging his fourth towel along the rim of the empty bathtub, and said, “Don’t listen to him, Lee. I think you’re doing brilliantly.”

“Don’t encourage him!”

Harry bumped his shoulder and finally washed the toothpaste off his forearm. “What about hugging?”

“Only if it doesn’t last longer than two seconds.” That was proper etiquette, if one really did need to hug at all.

Harry snorted. “Two seconds? Why even bother?”

“Also, hands above waist level.”

“You’re having me on, right?”

Draco turned back to face him, face completely serious. Too late did he notice that the toothpaste on Harry’s stomach was still very much there. Well, at least now Draco knew why he always brushed his teeth shirtless. He had wondered about that, because it wasn’t like Harry was too hot – he always cast a warming charm beforehand.

“ _Eyes_ , Draco.”

Right. Draco’s eyes flicked back up to Harry’s face. The bastard was grinning even more now. Draco cleared his throat and said. “I’m completely serious.”

“Fine, what about holding hands?” Harry didn’t even wait for Draco to open his mouth, cutting him short immediately. “You know what, I don’t want to know. I don’t care about Pure-blood etiquette. I’m already holding back in our world. I’m _not_ going to do it in the Muggle world too. I’m not bloody compromising on holding hands. It’s none-negotiable.”

Sighing, Draco rolled his eyes and then dropped his shoulders in defeat. Small victories, right? “ _Fine_. As long as we are clear on the hugging and kissing.”

“I’m gonna hold your hand so hard,” Harry said fiercely, grabbing both of them like he was trying to prove a point. Then he nodded down at his toothpaste streaked torso. “So, are you gonna help me with that? You _do_ like mint, right?”

Draco glanced over his shoulder and said, in his most outraged voice, “Not in front of Aurelius!”

Green eyes narrowed dangerously. “You _can’t_ be serious.”

Draco’s laughter was cut short when Harry growled, grabbed him around the waist and dragged him across the hall and into the bedroom.

And who could complain about that?


	37. Invaders Must Die [Tuesday, March 29th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to: Kiwicustard191, Evierosie02, ZanyNY, Caterine2403, Fandomwarriorqueen, night, Santa_Pacifica, Leni, Slytherinz_Ghost, illindalenti, M.a., Fan, filidoune, ThatBoringOne and WildvanillaRose for commenting! 🥰 I honestly love reading all of your opinions so much!
> 
> Now that we’re all rested after the last chapter, I think we should be ready for this one. 😏
> 
> Title: The Prodigy - Invaders Must Die

You’d think that finding out someone trusted you enough to key you into their wards would be a good thing.

On March 29th, it wasn’t.

It went like this: Draco was done with his last patient around half past seven in the morning. He took a quick shower, dried his hair off with his wand and then immediately got it all wet again when he stepped outside and into the pouring rain.

Great. Now he’d have to dry it again before going to bed, or it would be all over the place. Maybe not as bad as Harry’s, but he doubted that anyone could archive that degree of messiness. It really was no wonder that Harry’s grandfather had invented that hair potion. The real question was: why didn’t Harry _use_ it? (Not that Draco really wanted him to.)

Yawning deeply, Draco pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and went down the street until he finally reached the spot from where he could Apparate home. For a second, he felt way too tired to do it, but then a few drops of rain dripped from his hair and down his back, and Draco shivered violently. He pulled his hood down low over his face, took a deep breath to gather his strength and twisted.

It took Draco a second to orient himself.

He had expected to appear in his hallway, facing his flower wallpaper. He had _not_ been expecting to look at Harry’s front door and drip water onto his marble floor.

Well, fuck. Draco’s first thought was that he could count himself lucky he hadn’t Splinched himself if he had really been _that_ distracted. His second thought was just pure confusion. When exactly had Harry decided that Draco could just pop in whenever? He definitely hadn’t told him.

Also: what was he supposed to _do_ now? There was no telling how Harry would react if Draco just called for him. He didn’t really want to startle him. It felt kind of intrusive, just coming in unannounced. Even if Harry had done the same on Christmas _and_ Valentine’s. Draco briefly debated just Disapparating, but he had a feeling that would just make it worse if Harry had already heard him.

It happened without a warning. A strong, invisible arm was slung around his neck from behind, strangling him. But before Draco could do anything more than flinch and make a noise that could have developed into a scream, he was thrown around roughly, face connecting painfully with the wall. A second later, the tip of a wand was pressed against his hooded head.

And then Harry growled into his ear, “How did you get in?” 

Draco made a noise – something between a wheeze and a groan – and Harry’s arm around his throat flexed nervously. Merlin, Draco couldn’t breathe! He tried to grab a hold of the arm around his throat, but it was no use. He was pressed against the wall so hard that there was no room for his arm to squeeze into, and all he could ho was try to ram his elbows into Harry’s sides. If Harry wanted answers, he was going about this all wrong.

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco whispered, barely audible.

It did no good. The wand was pressed against his temple even harder. The arm around Draco’s throat was so tight that it felt like his windpipe was about to get crushed.

Harry’s voice was shaking with rage. “What do you want?”

In a desperate effort, Draco braced both hands against the wall and _pushed_. Harry stumbled behind him, and then, from one second to the next, he was falling, dragging Draco down with him.

With a grunt, Harry landed flat on his back with Draco right on top him. Gasping for air, Draco grabbed his arm with both hands, pried it loose and rolled off him, landing on his hands and knees.

Draco’s voice sounded strange and broken as he yelled, “Harry, stop!” and then staggered to his feet, both hands flying up to massage his sore throat. Fuck, he was dizzy and completely disoriented. He had to face Harry, but Merlin, he couldn’t even remember to which side he’d been. Fucking Invisibility Cloak.

A rope whipped past Draco’s head and struck the wall next to the staircase. There was a sudden flurry of movement as the Snitches glued to the wall got loose at once, taking off into every direction. Some of them fluttered so close by him that Draco could feel their wings on his face.

And then something grabbed his leg from behind, yanking him back to the ground in one brutal stroke, and ropes wound all around him, tying him up tightly, locking his legs together and squeezing his arms against his chest. It felt like there was no air left in his lungs.

Draco couldn’t see anything but the marble floor. The hood, which had slid off when they’d gone down, had fallen over his head again and Draco could hear the blood rushing ins his ears, his own wheezing breath, the almost silent sound of Harry coming closer.

Something at Draco’s chest pressed into his wrist painfully, but Draco could bare move to change anything about it. Harry grabbed his arm roughly and flipped him around at once, and then Draco’s hand found the thing, closing around it as the ceiling came into view. The thing in Draco’s hand grew hot at once, and there was a startled gasp above him.

The ropes fell away at once and then Draco heard Harry drop down beside him. His horror-struck face appeared above him a second later, and then there were his hands, hovering over Draco’s face and his arms, apparently afraid to touch.

“Oh God. Oh fuck, shit.”

“Language, Potter,” croaked Draco, massaging his wrists. He stayed on his back, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. The Snitches were everywhere now, and it certainly wasn’t doing anything to help with his light-headedness.

“Oh God, I’m _so_ sorry.” Harry finally brought himself to place a hand in Draco’s hair and stroke it soothingly. “Are you alright? Do you need to go to Mungo’s?”

Draco shook his head, leaning into the touch (even if Harry didn’t really deserve it right now). “Gonna be fine. Sorry for dropping in unexpectedly. It was kind of an accident.”

“You Apparated in _accidentally_?”

“I was kind of thinking about you when I left work. It just happened,” said Draco with a sigh. Harry was grinning now, so Draco slapped his hand away and pushed himself into a sitting position. “Oh, shut up. I am really tired.”

Harry got to his feet and then offered him a hand, grinning even more than before. “You _like_ me.”

“You will never hear me admit to _that_.” Draco let himself be pulled up and then pulled the necklace out of his scrubs. It was still warmer than usual, though it looked the same. “So, when did you plan on telling me you placed a _Protean_ on the necklace?”

Guilt was still written all over Harry’s face. “It was just supposed to be a precaution. In case I have to reach you, you know? Fast and discreet.”

“And if _I_ wanted to contact _you_?” Draco leaned against the wall for support. His legs had already been shaky before coming here and nearly getting strangled certainly hadn’t been an improvement.

Harry plucked the necklace out of Draco’s hands, caressed it once and then put it back underneath Draco’s scrubs very carefully. “I was going to tell you,” he muttered. “Maybe later, when it would have looked a little less crazy.”

Though Draco had a few choice words to say about crazy, he kept all of them to himself. They had already talked about that stuff after Blaise’s party, so there was no need to rehash it now. Especially not when Draco was almost too tired to function. Besides, he didn’t want Harry to decide being with Draco was too dangerous after all. So Draco just nodded and straightened his still very wet cloak.

Harry nodded too, giving him a look that told Draco he knew exactly what they weren’t talking about and was thankful for it. He placed both hands on Draco’s shoulders and took off his cloak, careful not to touch him too roughly. “I have practice now, but you can sleep here if you want ...”

Draco nodded gratefully for a second, which transformed into a head shake when he realised he wasn’t done for the day. He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “I’ve got to go home to Aurelius.”

Harry smoothed Draco’s hair back with both hands, eyes focused on his intently, which felt a little bit like hypnosis with how green they were. “Go to bed. You’ve just been assaulted.” And yes, there was the bitterness Draco had been waiting for, but then Harry gave him a half-hearted smile and continued. “He can go into the garden if he has to and I’ll pick him up after practice.”

“I don’t know,” muttered Draco.

“Please,” Harry muttered back, stroking his throbbing cheek with one soft, tentative finger. “I feel awful. Just let me do that for you.”

“ _Fine_.”

Something was fluttering at the edge of his vision and Draco swatted at it half-heartedly. Harry’s hand shot out and pressed the Snitch into Draco’s palm a second later. He leaned in and then hesitated at the last second, lips just inches away from Draco’s.

Perfect, now the idiot was starting to develop doubts. Merlin, why couldn’t Draco have been a little bit more attentive when he’d Apparated? He wouldn’t put it past Harry to break up with him just to keep him safe.

Draco grabbed his neck and pulled him in for the most convincing kiss he had, ignoring the way his lower lip throbbed painfully. The discomfort was definitely worth it when Harry returned the kiss a second later, and then Draco slid his tongue into Harry’s mouth, and Harry made a little noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan, and Draco had seldom felt so relieved.

It didn’t even matter when Harry pulled away a second later, taking several steps back, because he was actually panting as he did it, and his eyes were roaming Draco’s body, and fuck, now Draco could remember (without fear of dying) the way it had felt when they’d fallen to the floor, Draco on top with Harry’s arm around his neck, and that was definitely something Draco would like to repeat some time very soon (though not _all_ of it).

Harry cleared his throat and then placed the cloak on Draco’s hook, breaking eye contact. “Practice.”

Draco nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”

And well, that didn’t seem to make it any easier for Harry to leave, if the way his lips parted were any indication, so Draco looked down at the Snitch in his hand (the inscription read _‘February 8 th 2004\. Falmouth Falcons vs. Ballycastle Bats. 370 – 210’) _and added, “How many more are there?”

Harry’s voice sounded husky as he said, “Fifty-six.”

Draco groaned. “Is it bad that I kind of wish you had lost against the Arrows now?”

“I’m afraid that makes you officially the worst,” said Harry with a soft smile, but then he kissed him anyway, if only for a second.

Then there was a _pop_ , and Draco was alone with this absolutely obscene number of Snitches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're due some more Quidditch tomorrow!


	38. Two Can Keep a Secret [Friday, April 1st 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that were a lot of comments! I really appreciate each and every one of them, especially those of you who comment on previous chapters! 💕
> 
> Massive thanks to: Yentregarse, Slytherinz_Ghost, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Tula, Fan, Lulabelle, filidoune, illindalenti, ThatBoringOne, WildvanillaRose, Fandomwarriorqueen, serilla and Amber Rose! 😊
> 
> I think I promised you Quidditch.
> 
> Title: The Pierces - Secret

It started innocently enough – at the end of his nightshift, around quarter past seven, Draco ran into Tabitha Woods, Healer for the Appleby Arrows, in the changing rooms.

They made small talk while getting changed, which was nice. And then: _this._

She said, “Hey, some of the Quidditch guys are getting coffee around the corner.”

And he replied (while trying to tie his shoelaces and failing miserably – Merlin, he was tired!), “That sounds nice. Have fun!”

“You’re a Quidditch guy too, you know?” she stammered.

Draco looked at her blankly – her face was beet red. Maybe she’d just stared at her feet for two minutes as well.

She got redder as he continued to stare at her – the _first_ three seconds because he had trouble confirming or denying the statement, the _next_ two because he couldn’t believe he was being invited somewhere, and the _last_ five to decide whether to go or not.

Con: It was George’s birthday, which meant he’d have to be at the Burrow at three.

Pro: Blaise was right – the Malfoy name was worthless and he was on his own. If he wanted to climb the social ladder, he’d have to network.

On the other hand: He’d only been to the Burrow once since announcing their relationship to Harry’s family (a Sunday lunch during which Mrs. Weasley had hugged Draco a total of six times, fed him three slices of cake, and almost broken into tears). If he wanted to keep up the good impression the Weasleys had of him, some sleep would be wise. Especially because it was the twins’ birthday and only one of them was still there to see it. He didn’t know what kind of atmosphere to expect.

Then again: People often didn’t ask again if you declined their first invite. It was just coffee – how long could it take? He’d drink a cup, exchange pleasantries and still get a solid six hours of sleep.

~o~

Draco didn’t know how it had happened. One moment it was seven in the morning and he was dead on his feet, and the next it was half past eleven and he was on his sixth espresso shot.

The _‘Quidditch Guys’_ weren’t _‘getting coffee’_ – they were substituting it for alcohol. Flavio Valdez, Healer for the Wimbourne Wasps, had bought the first round, which apparently required every single Quidditch Guy to return the favour.

As every avid Quidditch fan knew, there were thirteen Quidditch teams competing in the British-Irish League. This meant that there were thirteen Healers, seven of which were present, as not all of them were on the same shift. Draco’s seventh espresso shot was already in front of him. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to drink it without spilling all of it.

“So, Draco, how’s Potter doing?”

Draco spilt all of it.

“What?” he squealed. His heart was hammering madly, which was probably fifty percent coffee and fifty percent sheer panic. “Why do you ask?!”

The Quidditch Guys laughed. Tabitha vanished the mess he had made and then turned his bar stool around so he was facing her.

“Wow, your pupils are _huge_!”

Draco had trouble concentrating on her eyes. His own were darting this way and that, and it felt like they were everywhere at once. His whole body seemed to be trembling.

Tabitha placed a hand on his bouncing leg and Draco froze.

“I think you found his off switch,” Valdez joked.

Draco didn’t ask what that was – he’d visited the Muggles often enough by now. Why was Tabitha’s hand still on his leg? Draco turned to the bar again and her hand fell away.

There was a glass of water in front of him that hadn’t been there when Tabitha had turned him around. The bartender gave him a sympathetic look and Draco drank it completely.

“What about Potter?” he asked, trying for a more casual tone. His hands were shaking so much they were rattling the empty glass, so he let go of it.

“You’re directly at the source! We’re just curious.”

Draco raised his eyebrows at her. They felt as if they would never come down again. “You know I can’t tell you.”

Valdez clasped his shoulder like they were mates. “We don’t want to hear the medical stuff. Nothing important. Just the small things.”

Tabitha nodded eagerly. “Example: Jackson Jones heard from a reliable source that Potter only wears red pants, so that’s the only colour he wears as well. Either Jack thinks it’ll make him a better Seeker or he is counting on impressing Potter if they ever happen to meet each other in just their underpants.”

“That’s _absurd_.” Draco remembered Jackson Jones from the first match Draco had attended as a Healer. He was the Seeker who had crashed into the stands together with Harry and spent several minutes pinned to his chest.

“So … he doesn’t wear red pants?” Tabitha asked with a grin.

She was leaning in, as if she was trying to read the answer from his eyes. Tabitha wasn’t a Legilimens, right? Draco turned away, just in case.

“I can’t say that I paid special attention to that detail.”

_Because he was usually focusing on more important things when Harry took off his clothes. Like what was underneath the pants._

“Well, Amelia Kimbrough always wears the same knickers on match days. Black with golden Snitches.”

“I heard she’s dating Ethan Sherwood?” Cassiopeia Frey (Puddlemere United) leaned in from Valdez’ other side.

“Yeah. It’s going to be a train wreck!” Valdez said gleefully.

“Why?” Draco asked. He knew that Kimbrough was the Wasps’ Seeker, but he’d never heard of Sherwood.

“He’s her reserve, so they’re each other’s competition, right?” Tabitha explained. “Imagine if Potter dated Felicity McCarthy.”

Draco laughed out loud. He didn’t mean to, but it was hard to control. Several people stared at him over their Morning Prophet. “They _loathe_ each other!”

Tabitha shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. Didn’t he hate _you_ too at one point?” Draco rolled his eyes, but Tabitha cut in before he could reply. “And now he’s appointed you the Falcons’ Healer practically single-handedly.”

“Like he fired Dayal.” Frey giggled and then stared at the ceiling dreamily. “Merlin, that was _so_ hot. I framed the photograph.”

“We get along,” Draco allowed. “Doesn’t mean he’d _date_ me. _Absurd._ Not that _I_ would be interested, either. _Absolutely_ absurd.” Draco scoffed and tried to empty his glass in one gulp. It was already empty.

Now Tabitha was the one giggling. “Your girlfriend probably wouldn’t like that either.”

“Who?” Draco asked without thinking. Then he mentally kicked himself in the head. If he wanted to convince them he wasn’t dating Potter (or gay at all), a fake girlfriend would have been a good way to go. Too late now. Should’ve thought of that in advance.

Tabitha turned away to take another espresso shot, but Draco thought he could see her grinning. She couldn’t be pleased, right? Harry thought she’d been flirting with him two months ago, but that was even more absurd than _him_ liking Draco. After all, this gathering was proof that she really had just wanted to get together as colleagues.

“Wait, so you _don’t_ have a girlfriend?” Valdez was frowning. Draco shook his head. “Then _who_ has been making your lunch? You stopped bringing leftover Chinese food.”

“It’s not like that’s the only thing I’ve been eating!” Draco protested.

His mind was running very fast, but also very ineffectively. All he kept thinking was _‘Merlin, fuck, think of something, anything, fuck!’,_ which wasn’t very helpful. “I took up cooking.”

That wasn’t really a lie. Harry usually gave him small jobs, like cutting the tomatoes. That counted.

“Oooh,” said Tabitha excitedly, turning to face him again. She was practically beaming. “I love cooking. But it’s much more fun if you don’t have to do it alone, isn’t it?”

“Er,” said Draco, not exactly eager to tell her that he wasn’t. “Guess so?” Tabitha looked like she had follow-up questions, so Draco changed the topic hastily. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you guys something. Do you get along with the Coaches? Greyson’s delusional. He wants me to ask for _permission_ before I sign a sick note.”

The others laughed. Nobody looked the least bit surprised, which rather worried Draco.

“It’s Quidditch,” Tabitha said, like that explained anything. “They’re _all_ insane. You wouldn’t believe how much gold is involved. Some of the Coaches risk losing their position if their team doesn’t do well. Others are shareholders of their team, which means they lose their own gold. And I’m not just talking about the prize gold. There’s ticket sales, merchandise, sponsors.”

“All of them try to meddle in our business,” Valdez added. “You just have to find some kind of middle ground. Keep the players safe and the Coaches happy.”

“Great,” Draco mumbled. “I don’t think Greyson will settle for middle ground. He seems more like the upper hand kind of guy.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Tabitha said confidently.

There was a sudden flare of heat at his chest, and Draco yelped and slapped his hand against his sternum, nearly falling off his bar stool. Both Valdez and Tabitha grabbed one of his arms.

“What is it?” Tabitha’s voice was more high-pitched than usual.

“Heartburn?” Valdez asked. “Panic attack?”

“Is it a jinx? Did someone curse you recently?” Frey chimed in. Draco thought she looked a little too excited.

Draco shook his arms free from his colleagues, and also his head. “Hanging out with Healers really is the _worst_. I just remembered I have somewhere to be.”

“Already?” Tabitha seemed disappointed.

“We’ve been here almost five hours,” Draco pointed out, slipping from his bar stool. “I’ve got a … family thing, I guess.”

“Oh … okay. See you, Draco.”

Draco waved and speed-walked outside. He spun as soon as he was out of the door.

Too much caffeine really wasn’t good for him. Draco had Apparated with way too much force and was still spinning as he materialised inside his hallway. He would have spun straight into a wall if Harry hadn’t intercepted him.

Draco didn’t even have time to spot him leaning against the banister before Harry grabbed his upper arms. He even managed to pull him against his chest before Draco fell flat on his face from motion sickness.

Draco dropped his chin onto Harry’s shoulder and closed his eyes to calm his racing heart. Harry’s hair was damp and peppermint-y. He had probably just come from practice.

There was definitely an accusatory tone in Harry’s voice as he asked, “Did you just leave work?”

Draco ignored the question in favour of pulling the Snitch out of his shirt. Inscribed on the surface were the words _‘Where are you’_. Despite the small scale of the Snitch, Draco found that he could read the words perfectly.

“ _So?_ Did you sleep at all?”

“I drank some coffee.”

Harry pushed him away to have a look at his face. This time, Draco didn’t have that much trouble focusing on the eyes. The problem was to stop staring. His eyes were getting dry and he found that he had to blink manually, as his eyes didn’t do it on their own anymore. Harry frowned and pressed a hand against Draco’s chest, just left of the tiny golden pendant.

“Feels like you swallowed a Snitch.”

“Well, it’s not getting any slower with your hand there.”

Harry was trying very hard not to grin. He didn’t withdraw his hand, wrapping his free arm around Draco’s waist.

“I won’t collapse, you know?” Not that he was really complaining.

Harry laughed slightly. “I don’t really trust your judgement.”

“Fine, maybe I had one too many espresso shots.”

“Espresso –”

“Shots, yes. But Tabitha had at least two more than me.”

The arm around his waist tightened. The hand on his chest twitched. Draco could feel every little movement. Maybe he should drink coffee more often.

“Woods, you mean? You had coffee with her?” Harry’s voice sounded a little too casual and Draco rolled his eyes.

“She _didn’t_ ask me out. There were five other Healers there with us.”

“Oh, that’s smart. That’s exactly how I got you.”

“Excuse me? Why did _you_ get _me_? Maybe _I_ got _you_?”

That was definitely the more likely scenario. Draco was sure that people would agree that getting Harry bloody Potter was more of an accomplishment than getting _him_.

Harry had the audacity to laugh in his face. “ _Please_. You didn’t do shit.”

Draco huffed because, technically, Harry was right. Draco had put a lot of energy into keeping his distance. To be fair: the sheer idea that Harry could be into him had been pretty absurd.

“Be that as it may, Tabitha isn’t interested in me.”

“Wanna bet?”

Draco hesitated. Tabitha _wasn’t_ interested, right? Harry narrowed his eyes and Draco backed away to take his hand. “How much?”

“Not gold. If I’m right, you have to go flying with me.”

Draco grinned. “Pretty low stakes you got there.”

“We’ll see. What if I’m wrong? Not that I will be.”

“I want a wild card. You have to stay at Mungo’s if I tell you it’s absolutely necessary.”

“That’s completely out of proportion compared to my demand.”

Draco’s grin widened. “Doesn’t matter if you’re right, does it?”

Harry grabbed his hand even tighter. “Deal.”

~o~

Draco didn’t get any sleep. He tried to shut his eyes, but that really didn’t work. _Harry_ was fine. He’d fallen asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow, though _he_ had gotten a full night’s sleep as well.

So Draco spent two hours stroking his back and staring at him. He had him completely memorised by now – the exact shade of his skin, the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose, the way his scar branched, even that one lock of hair that kept brushing it but never stayed to cover it up with the rest of them.

~o~

Now they were at the party. It was impossibly loud, like always. Draco’s head felt like it might explode, which really didn’t help dodging various joke shop articles in disguise. Neville had already turned into a canary twice.

Draco could count himself lucky – his tongue had only been glued to a dessert fork once. The _strangest_ thing about that was that it had been Mr. Weasley who had handed him that fork. Draco knew, because he had shouted _“For Fred!”_ as soon as Draco had noticed what had happened.

That seemed to be the way the Weasley’s coped – today, it wasn’t just George pranking them. All of them pranked each other mercilessly and then claimed responsibility by shouting those two words.

It was insane. It was the best thing Draco had ever witnessed, even if his headache was killing him and he was completely relying on Harry to shield him from the worst pranks.

“ _Blibbering Humdingers_!” Ginny shouted as soon as the table had cleared itself.

“Yes!” Draco shot to his feet.

Anything to get him away from that ruckus. Some fresh air would certainly do him some good. Maybe he could work off some of the caffeine.

“You can’t seriously be thinking about flying like this!” Harry grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back down, but Draco brushed him off.

“I’m good,” Draco said. “If you can fly while under the influence of Confounding Concoction, I can fly after six espresso shots.”

“ _Six?_ ” Harry jumped to his feet as well and followed him towards the broom shed. “You said you had _one_ too many.”

“I feel fine. It’s just a friendly, right?” Draco slipped into the grey and white robes Ginny had given him.

Harry made a grab at his own chest, where the wings were outlined against his t-shirt. “Plenty can happen!”

Draco grabbed one of the dark green robes and held it out to him. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry looked like there was a bad taste in his mouth. He gave him a scathing look and snatched the robes out of his hand. “I hate you.”

Draco summoned a Firebolt from the shed and turned it over to check that it was okay. “No, you don’t.”

Harry growled, summoned a Keeper’s helmet and thrust it into Draco’s arms. Then he stomped away to rally some more people for the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. Draco hadn’t really been planning on playing Keeper (which was obviously the most boring position as he had to stay close to his hoops at all times), but he expected Harry to cast a Full Body-Bind at him if he dared to object. At least that was what _Draco_ felt like doing to _him_ sometimes.

Draco’s team consisted of Ginny as Beater, Hannah and Charlie as Chasers, himself as Keeper and George as Seeker. The Snorkacks had Dean, Harry and Ron, Bill and Angelina.

He felt better as soon as he kicked off. The air was cool and refreshing and the noise wasn’t as bad up there. Down on the field, Hermione released the balls. The Snitch circled one of Draco’s hoops and then disappeared. The sole Bludger made a dash for Ron.

Harry snatched the Quaffle out of the air and narrowly prevented a crash with Charlie. He dodged the opposing players expertly, and then completely botched his throw. Draco was pretty sure that Harry was aiming at the middle hoop – at last that was where he was looking. The Quaffle veered completely off course and hit the outer rim of the right hoop with a resounding bang that left it shaking.

“Pathetic!” shouted Draco.

Harry showed him one of his fingers and then turned his broom around to chase after Charlie, who had caught the Quaffle and ultimately scored despite Dean’s best efforts (which weren’t that good).

The Quaffle was now back in the Snorkacks’ possession. Ron seemed to have better aim than Harry, but he was a weak thrower. Draco had no problem at all catching it. He passed it on to Hannah, who promptly dropped it. Harry was already there to catch it.

The Snitch decided to make an early appearance at that moment – it circled Harry’s head once, who hesitated. Draco could practically feel the restraint it took him not to make a grab for it. Charlie used the distraction to snatch the Quaffle out of his hands and take off.

Draco laughed. It was nice seeing Harry not completely in control while on the pitch. He was still an excellent flier and managed to catch the Quaffle just fine, but the rest wasn’t as polished. He had serious trouble communicating a strategy with Ron, who had to lunge after the Quaffle, as it drifted off to the right whenever Harry passed it to him.

Draco changed his mind a good fifteen minutes later. The score was sixty to forty and Ron had just passed the Quaffle to Harry, who was heading straight towards him.

His eyes were flickering towards the left hoop, so Draco made a dash for the middle one, where the Quaffle would most likely end up. Harry hurled the Quaffle, which went flying right at Draco. Too late, Draco raised his arms to catch it. It went right through them and nailed him in the head.

The force of it nearly threw him off his broom – he just managed to grab it again. Then the back of his head connected with the hoop and Draco let go.

~o~

When he opened his eyes again, the sky was gone. He was looking up at the living room ceiling instead – not that he could see much of it, as a fuck-ton of people were crowded around his sofa and staring down at him. His head was throbbing, but at least the caffeine buzz was gone.

“Fucking Potter,” he groaned, propping himself up.

“I told you not to play!” Harry protested. He was sitting on the arm rest at Draco’s feet, glaring down at him. He’d probably chosen that place just for this specific purpose.

Draco glared back. “I was _fine_ until you decided to wreck me.”

“ _What?_ Just because you were too slow –”

“Your aim is abysmal!”

The others seemed to decide that Draco was fine, because they all branched off.

Hermione lingered for a second, fixing Harry with a stern look. “Guess now you know what Draco feels like whenever you brush him off.”

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and rolled his eyes. Draco grinned at him and sat up completely. He pulled Harry from his armrest until they were sitting side by side and then laced their fingers together. There, he had initiated hand-holding. That had to appease Harry, right?

Harry smiled at him then, and Draco used his free hand to sort out Harry’s hair. It was a lost cause – the curls were wind-swept and completely tangled.

“Your aim really _is_ abysmal.”

“I _was_ right about not wanting to let you fly.”

Draco bumped his shoulder and then squeezed his hand. Harry smiled at him some more.

People returned when they noticed they weren’t arguing anymore. The rest of the evening was spent in the living room, talking and playing Exploding Snap.

Only once did what he _thought_ was his wand turn into a jelly snake. He didn’t take it personally. He gave half of it to Neville and then (when nothing happened to him) ate the rest.


	39. Death with Benefits [Tuesday, May 17th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays to everybody who has one right now!  
> Thanks for commenting to: Slytherinz_Ghost, Emmarosebat, AlluraBelle, Fan, filidoune, ZanyNY, illindalenti, ThatBoringOne, Fandomwarriorqueen, serilla, Yentregarse, Caterine2403 and XOX_Eternity_XOX! 😊

Being with Harry meant that Draco used up his stock of essence of arnica way faster than usual, even though Harry only let him treat the really nasty bruises, usually claiming that the smaller ones didn’t need attention. Draco guessed that Harry didn’t want to overly burden him. He still wasn’t great at accepting help, though Draco suspected that it was a little easier with him than with his friends, because helping him was literally his job.

Even so, Draco was running low again, so he got right to that when he had picked up Aurelius after his morning shift and got to Grimmauld Place. He didn’t exactly know when they had started sleeping at each other’s place every single night or waiting there for each other, but Draco already felt out of place when he didn’t do it. He just needed to remember to touch his necklace when he came in, so Harry would know it was him and not some home invader.

Under Aurelius’ watchful eyes, Draco chopped and measured the ingredients, mixed them together, stirred and then put a spell on the cauldron that would gradually heat it up to 180 degrees Fahrenheit.

The essence had to be vaporised very slowly until only a few crystals would remain, which he would then crush and mix with aloe vera juice. Draco had at least an hour to kill until that point would be reached, so he followed Aurelius upstairs into the sitting room.

He wished there was a way to speed up the process, but messing about with potions was something only an _idiot_ would do. He wouldn’t put it past _Harry_ , either. The git was definitely impatient and reckless enough. And no matter what Slughorn thought, Draco didn’t believe for one second that Harry really was a potions genius. He must have cheated somehow.

Harry returned sometime later – Draco heard him Apparate into the hallway. Draco stayed on his back on the sofa, his book charmed to float above him so he had both hands free for Aurelius, who was spread out on top of him. They weren’t one of _those_ couples, Draco decided. Those that almost devoured each other when they saw each other again, even if they had only been apart for a few hours. Draco still had some dignity.

“How _many_ times, Draco?!” Harry yelled from downstairs, clearly pissed off. “Put away your stuff when you’re done using it!”

“And what _‘stuff’_ would that be?” Draco asked innocently, making his book turn a page.

“Your enormous fucking cauldron for starters! I’ll start throwing out your stuff _right_ now, you have been warned!”

“ _Wait!_ ” Draco yelled, upsetting Aurelius and jumping to his feet. “I’m not done with that. It’s still in the prepping stages. _I didn’t break any rules!_ ”

There was a clattering noise as Draco ran down the stairs. In the hallway he almost collided with Harry, who was carrying Draco’s cauldron in both hands. Draco stopped, dumbfounded. Had his heating charm failed? That had never happened before.

“My kitchen is not a potions lab, you know?” Harry growled, thrusting the cauldron into Draco’s arms. “Get that out of my sight, before I _vanish_ it.”

Draco dropped the cauldron with a yelp, taking a hasty step back. The noise was deafening in the vast, empty hallway and Harry collided with the wall in an attempt to get out of the way. They stared at each other while the cauldron clattered across the floor.

“What the _hell_ , Malfoy?”

Harry threw his hands up in anger and Draco grabbed both of them, turning them palms-up. They were red and already blistering, and an aborted noise escaped Harry’s mouth.

“Did you not notice that?” Draco whispered, looking up into Harry’s face.

He had immediately felt the shock, that second during which you couldn’t tell if something was either very hot or very cold.

Harry swallowed and shook his head just the tiniest bit. “It thought it felt warm, but that’s it.”

Draco used a nonverbal healing spell. When he put away his wand, he held onto Harry’s right hand with his left, to keep him from fleeing the scene. Already Draco could feel the muscles in his arm twitching.

“You do know, of course, that that is definitely not normal? There is something _seriously_ wrong with you.”

Harry immediately tried to play it down. “Gee, thanks Draco. You really have a way with words.”

“Why did you never consult a Healer?” Draco demanded. “You are practically a regular at Mungo’s, so don’t tell me the opportunity never presented itself.”

“Who says I didn’t?” Harry pulled his hand away and crossed his arms, hands held a few inches away from his sleeves. “Maybe I _did_ and they didn’t find anything?”

“Maybe. But you _didn’t_.”

There was nothing about this in Harry’s charts, only a note about how his body temperature had allegedly always been low. Draco didn’t believe it, especially after that day when Harry had thought he was sixteen again. He had been cold when Draco had hugged him, but Harry himself hadn’t seemed to feel it.

Harry opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to have a strong enough argument. So instead, and despite his still sensitive hands, he grabbed Draco by the neck and kissed him urgently.

“Are you trying to distract me?” Draco asked, pushing Harry away just enough to be able to talk.

“Is it working?” Harry asked, pulling him closer again, kissing his neck.

Draco scoffed. “If you have to ask, it is obviously not working.”

“What about now?” Harry said, pushing Draco up against the wall, one of his legs sliding in between Draco’s. His tongue was tickling a spot below Draco’s ear.

“Still a _‘No’_ , I’m afraid,” Draco said, his voice strangely hoarse.

Stupid hormones. Draco could feel Harry grinning against his throat. And then the bastard bit him softly and a moan escaped Draco’s mouth before he could repress it.

Draco pushed him away by both shoulders, but Harry grabbed his wrists and pinned them against the wall on either side of Draco’s head. He bucked his hips in an attempt at throwing Harry off, but of course that made the situation only worse. _Much_ worse.

Draco took a shaky breath as Harry produced something between a low moan and an animalistic growl. Admitting to himself that yes, maybe this _was_ working on him, Draco kissed Harry greedily.

~o~

Draco rolled onto Harry and their heated bodies seemed to melt back into each other. He took Harry’s face into both hands and kissed him lazily, indefinitely more softly than before. Harry’s hands stroked his sides, caressed his back, touched his hair.

Draco never wanted to leave this room. He wondered if their magic could enable them to spend the rest of their lives in this bed. Probably.

Draco slid to the side, so that only half his body was lying on top of Harry. He propped his head up with a pillow, so he could look him in the eyes properly. His left hand found its way into Harry’s soft (albeit catastrophic) hair.

“Why won’t you get it diagnosed?” he asked quietly, and Harry groaned in frustration, closing his eyes briefly. “Are you afraid of what they might find?”

Harry rolled his eyes and then locked them on Draco’s, daring him to disagree. “No, I am not afraid.”

“Quit playing the hero. It’s getting old.”

Green eyes narrowed dangerously, and Draco recognised it for what it was – anger stemming from being accused of lying when one was actually telling the truth. How could Harry not be worried about this?

“You already _know_ what it is,” Draco realised and Harry’s eyes widened. One of his eyebrows twitched nervously.

“Stop using Legilimency on me!”

The hand on Draco’s back stilled. It had been almost warm a few minutes ago, heated by Draco’s body, but now it felt like a cold shiver on his skin.

“I didn’t! You are not _that_ mysterious a person, you know?”

But now that Harry had said it, it was almost impossible not to search his eyes for a clue – especially while being this close. There was a flicker of an image – Harry face-down in the grass, somebody kneeling down beside him – and Harry turned his head, facing the wall instead of Draco.

“Stop it, for fuck’s sake.”

The hand on Draco’s back, now icy again, grabbed Draco’s waist, and for a second Draco expected Harry to throw him off forcefully – punishment for invading his thoughts. But then Harry took a breath and his grip loosened.

It took a few seconds before he spoke again, this time in a strange voice, way too calm. “It’s because I died. Ever since then, I’m always cold. I don’t think there is anything you could do about that. You can’t exactly unkill me.”

“That can’t be it,” Draco replied pensively. “I’ve treated you for years now. You already had this problem when you crashed last year.”

Harry looked back at him. A light reflected in his eyes, turning them an almost unnatural colour of the most vivid green, which made Draco’s hair stand on end.

“Yeah, well. Probably because the first time I died was seven years ago. But what do I know? I’m not a _Healer_.”

“ _You_ ... in the war?” Draco stammered, completely blindsided. “ _How?_ ”

“You _know_ how. Your mother told everyone at her trial.” Harry stroked his back absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “A few months ago, you asked me how I survived the curse a second time. Long story short, I didn’t.”

“I am clearly in need of the long story,” Draco protested, wrapping a strand of messy hair around his index finger. “What brought you back?”

Harry shrugged, as if his resurrection was not of particular interest to him. “ _I_ did, I guess.”

“You _‘guess’_? If you don’t know what brought you back, how do you know you were even dead to begin with?” Draco knew he sounded a little upset. “Maybe you just hit your head. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Harry did his best to sound offended, but a grin was tugging at his face. Draco guessed that talking about serious stuff was more bearable if he could exchange some insults in the process.

“I’m calling you an unreliable witness. You got hit by the Killing Curse; I’m not bound to believe _anything_ you tell me about the effects. Especially if you follow it up with _‘I guess’._ ”

“Fine, what do you want to know?”

“What happened after you got hit with the curse?” Draco asked eagerly.

He didn’t even know what he wanted to hear. That Harry had felt nothing at all, had simply stopped existing for the time being? That he had gone to some kind of afterlife, where his parents had already been waiting for him?

“I had a chat with an old friend,” Harry joked instead.

“Old friend? What, like in _‘The Three Brothers’_?” Draco asked.

He had never really liked the Brothers as a child. He had dreamed of owning the Elder Wand, of course, like every wizard his age. But he had never seen the appeal of the Cloak. Hiding until it was time to go? That simply wasn’t the Malfoys’ style and he didn’t see how it made anyone Death’s _equal_. To hide was to admit defeat.

“I suppose so,” Harry said. “He holds his meetings at King’s Cross.”

“Sure, that’s as good a place as any, I assume. Was your friend carrying a scythe, by chance?”

Harry laughed and shook his head, dragging his messy hair through Draco’s face in the process. Draco took his face in both hands, keeping him in place.

“Stop that,” Draco said, but then Harry was kissing him softly and the irritation left his body.

Harry broke the kiss a few seconds later, smirking at him and then flicking Draco’s necklace teasingly. Smug bastard.

“So, who was your mysterious friend?” Draco prompted.

His money was on Fred Weasley. Harry’s father or godfather would have been more comprehensible, but he wouldn’t have called them a ‘friend’. Or maybe the person didn’t have to be dead? There was no telling if they had been real or just a figment of his imagination.

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said, looking at the ceiling again. Trying to avoid Draco’s Legilimency. “He told me to choose. Go on or go back.”

“Didn’t you think about just leaving? Weren’t you _tired_ of all that crap? I know I was.”

“Think about it? Yeah, I did. Really consider it? No. I still had unfinished business.”

“But did it _have_ to be you? Couldn’t somebody else finish it?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, resolving to look at him after all. “I’m starting to think you’d rather I _hadn’t_ come back.”

“Well, it _would_ be nice to not have my things thrown at me all the time,” Draco mused, staring into the distance dreamily. “But also, I’ve gotten used to eating warm meals twice a day. If I went back now, I would probably starve.”

Harry grinned and ran a hand through Draco’s hair. “You fucking sap.”

“So, you snuffed it, and ever since then, you’re an icicle?”

“Guess you can’t just die and expect to be fine,” Harry said wistfully. “The fucker killed me and now I’m broken.”

Harry paused for a few seconds, staring at his glowing golden night light.

“Sometimes I feel kind of _transparent_ , I guess. I can’t hold onto my body-heat and my magic just bursts out the _second_ I loosen my grip on it.”

“How does that work during Quidditch?” Draco asked thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen you pulverise a Bludger.”

Harry leaned over and took something out of his night stand. He held a simple silver ring up above their faces.

“I always wear this for Quidditch. It suppresses my magic. As long as I’m wearing this, I couldn’t cast a _Lumos_.”

“ _Voluntarily?_ ” Draco took the ring and turned it over. There was a tiny Snitch engraved on the inside.

“Well, getting banned for cheating isn’t really an alternative.”

Draco put it on, expecting to feel some kind of effect and experiencing absolutely nothing. “Mhhm … any side effects?”

“You could say that,” Harry scoffed. “The magic gets bottled up. The longer I wear that thing, the worse it gets. Like pressure rising inside of you.”

Draco put the ring on the night stand and then rolled back on top of Harry. He felt like they had been serious for long enough. Time to lighten the mood.

“I know a thing or two about rising pressure,” he said with a wicked grin, grabbing both of Harry’s hands and pinning them above his head.

Harry didn’t object to finding out about it.

~o~

Draco awoke in the middle of the night.

The first thing he noticed was that the bed was damp. The second thing was that he seemed to be lying next to a furnace. Even without touching him, Draco could feel the heat rolling off Harry. He looked feverish and tense.

Then he said something in Parsel, sounding nothing like himself, and Draco knew what had woken him up. He would cast a calming charm, and then wake Harry gently.

But when he turned around to grab his wand, he startled Harry, who gasped for air and grabbed Draco’s shoulders like a drowning person. Then a sudden pressure wave whipped everything off their night stands.

The Snitch that hung at the thread around Draco’s neck pulsated violently and, to his huge surprise and relief, seemed to cancel out Harry’s magic so that it only felt like a slight breeze on his bare skin. Trying to calm Harry down, Draco pressed a hand against Harry’s chest, and then snatched it away instantly. The oval scar was burning hot.

“What the hell?”

Harry let go of him to press both hands against the scar, like it was causing him enormous pain. Draco scrambled to get his wand and then knelt down next to Harry.

A wave of his wand created a glowing field around Harry’s body. Golden threads indicated the flow of his magic, most potent in the centre of his body. Though Draco had never seen a magic field glowing so brightly, his attention was focused on something else – there was a patch of darkness around the scar, of which the golden threads steered clear.

That was definitely not normal.

“Merlin …,” Draco whispered. “It’s not burned, it’s cursed!”

Harry only groaned and then turned onto his side to curl into a ball.

Draco placed a shaking hand on Harry’s shoulder, but he didn’t even seem to notice it. “I’ll take you to St. Mungo’s.”

Harry just groaned again, this time in protest. Then he whispered, “Give it a minute.”

One hand was still clutching his chest. The other was pressing down on medium sized bruise at his side.

Draco certainly wasn’t on board with waiting, but he also didn’t want to risk giving the Prophet another story to run. An emergency in the middle of the night was breaking news. Also, how would he explain why he had been there to take Harry to Mungo’s?

Harry interrupted his internal debate by rolling onto his back again. He draped one arm over his face, as if trying to shield his eyes from the faint moon light. He seemed much calmer, if pretty exhausted. Draco ran his spell again, but the dark patch was gone. If you knew where to look, you could only just see a small divergence in the flow of his magic around the scar.

“How did you get that scar?”

Harry’s voice sounded thin and broken. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do, that’s why I asked.”

Draco almost didn’t notice him shaking his head. “It’s better if you _don’t_ know.”

“Is that where ...” Draco was searching for a way to put it lightly. How did you address a person’s own murder in a casual manner?

“No. The second time didn’t leave a scar.”

“How am I supposed to help if you won’t tell me what it is?”

Draco knew that he sounded irritated, but he couldn’t help it. He was supposed to do something, to _heal_ him. He wasn’t used to just watching him suffer.

Harry draped the second arm over his face as well. Idiot. As if that would put some distance between him and the conversation. Well, it _did_ shield him from Draco’s Legilimency rather effectively.

Draco sighed and stroked the bit of Harry’s hair that he could reach. It was completely wet, but Draco didn’t even care. He was used to much worse.

“How often does that happen?”

Harry’s voice came muffled from underneath his arm. “Not that often. Every other month, and only for a few minutes.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah, well ...”

Draco realised that had been a dumb question. Harry had nightmares all the time, they weren’t really a symptom in this specific case. Draco stretched out beside Harry and then pulled him closer, so that Draco’s stomach was pressed against Harry’s back.

Draco put one hand on his chest, but the scar wasn’t burning anymore. He let his hand drift down and over the side, towards what Draco called his ‘Blaise scar’ and the row of bruises Harry had been pressing down on earlier.

“Why didn’t you tell me that it hurts? We can put some more arnica on these bruises.”

Harry just drew a deep breath and shook his head. “I want it to hurt.”

“You _want_ –“

“I _need_ it to hurt. Reminds me I’m awake. _Alive_. There’s no pain when you’re dead.”

Harry lowered his arms and started stroking Draco’s hand. Draco didn’t say anything else. He was lost in deep thoughts, staring at the wall without really seeing it. That scar was definitely affecting Harry’s life – Draco wouldn’t even be surprised if it was causing at least some of his paranoia.

If only Draco had made any progress with his scar research. He had yet to find a suitable subject to experiment on. Not that he was going around and asking people. Somehow it felt like he was waiting for a sign, for the perfect patient to present themselves. Truth be told, he had reached an impasse. Every bit of research he did now was so highly theoretical that it was barely of any use at all.

But even if his methods were successful, testing it on _that_ scar would be way too dangerous. He didn’t even know what kind of curse had caused it. Knowing what Harry had been up against, it could’ve been all kinds of sinister things. He couldn’t risk making it worse.

A few minutes later, Harry’s breathing evened out and Draco pulled up the blanket to cover them both.

He stayed awake for another thirty minutes, anxious to go back to sleep – even if it seemed like Draco himself wasn’t in any immediate danger. He turned the necklace over and over, studying it in the faint night light.

Seemed like Harry hadn’t just put a Protean on it, then. Thank Merlin, or Draco would probably already be at Mungo’s by now. If only that didn’t mean that Harry was so used to his nightmares that he had anticipated this.

Still, he couldn’t experiment on Harry. There just wasn’t a guarantee that he wouldn’t make it worse. 


	40. Things You  Can’t Control [Sunday, June 5th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to: Fan, Slytherinz_Ghost, ThatBoringOne, filidoune, WildvanillaRose, serilla, Fandomwarriorqueen, taeli and night! You guys say such nice things and I sincerely love all of you! 😊
> 
> To answer a question that won’t really get addressed otherwise: Yes, that was the Horcrux scar.
> 
> Full disclosure, I’m not-very-low-key in love with this chapter! 🥰

“You know Wood, right?” Captain Leona Robinson fixed Draco with a very serious look as he was checking her vitals one last time before the match against the Caerphilly Catapults.

Draco’s eyes stayed on her aura as he answered, quite indifferently. “I know who he is, if that’s what you mean.”

She huffed in irritation. “That’s bloody well not all I mean. Do try to follow, Malfoy. This is serious. You played against his team at Hogwarts. Harry told us. We need to know _everything_.”

Draco rolled his eyes and ended the spell. He would’ve liked to move on to the next player, but he’d already checked all of them. And they still had a good five minutes until the start of the match. He didn’t like going out to his bench that early – people kept staring down at him if he did, for a lack of anything more interesting.

He imitated her irritated huff and finally looked at her properly. She seemed quite jittery, which was unusual for her.

“Shouldn’t you ask Potter about him, then? He was _on_ his team, after all.”

“ _I_ –” Harry began in clear defence as Draco shot him a sidelong glance, but Robinson cut right across him.

“He’s useless. Apparently Harry never really watched him play.”

“I told you, Wood’s completely mad!” Harry said vehemently, coming over so she could see properly how he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “He doesn’t care who gets hurt as long as his team wins.”

“Maybe _you_ should’ve napped him from Puddlemere before the Catapults had a chance,” Draco said, because that description sounded like every single one of the Falcons.

Robinson pretended like Draco hadn’t said anything and instead waved her hand at Harry in clear dismissal. “That’s not information, Harry. That’s trivia about his style of captainship. Which he doesn’t have. He’s not even on the first team; he won’t get to decide _anything_. I need to know what he’s like as a Keeper. Focus!”

“Relax, Leo,” said Keeper Florence Mills. “They’d never let him play already if Stavros hadn’t cracked his skull on Friday.”

“I know, I know,” said Robinson, though it didn’t sound as if she did. “He’s only trained with them for a few months. And they were definitely counting on Stavros for this match. They really can’t afford to fall too far behind. Still!” She shouted the last part, pointing at Draco quite forcefully. “ _Think_! Come on, anything at all will do. Does he have a weak side? Any notable injuries?”

Draco groaned demonstratively. He had nothing, really. But he wasn’t going to tell her that whenever Gryffindor had played, his focus had mostly been trained on one particular player, hoping with all his might that he would just get hit by a Bludger or fall from his broom again or maybe, just maybe, be upstaged by another Seeker. It certainly hadn’t been a secret that Draco had been a rather enthusiastic supporter of Diggory after that one memorable match in third year.

“You do know I played Seeker, right?” Draco said to buy some time. “I wasn’t exactly focused on finding weak spots in Wood’s defences.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Robinson, waving her hand again, this time even faster. “But aren’t Slytherins always searching for weaknesses in the defences of whoever they meet?”

“That’s such a prejudice!” shouted her fellow Beater Easton Haynes from the other end of the room.

“That’s _literally_ your job, Easy!” Robinson shouted back, rolling her eyes. Think, Malfoy!”

Draco sighed and tried to think of anything at all. He told her the first thing that came to mind and made a mental note to keep away from her from now on if he could help it. “Fine. I think he was about two percent less focused on his left hoop. But that was over a decade ago, I really hope he worked on that in the meantime.”

Robinson made a face that told him that she had been hoping for more. Draco shrugged. “No point looking at me like that. I’m just the _Healer_ , not your strategist.”

“Obviously,” she said. Then she sighed deeply and got up, clapping her hands to get the others’ attention. “Alright, team. Let’s smash them!”

There was a great deal of shouted agreement and then the Falcons grabbed their brooms and marched out of the changing room. The last one to leave was Harry, and he turned back just as he reached the door to wink a Draco.

Draco fought back a smile and tried to sound stern as he said, “Don’t get smashed!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Harry, and then he was gone too. By the time Draco reached the hallway, they were already mounting their brooms.

The doors opened of their own accord as Bagman’s voice boomed through the stadium – _“Haynes! Robinson! Mason! Armstrong! Montgomery! Mills! Potter!”_ – and the Falcons flew in as their names were announced.

Draco followed at a distance, making his way over to his bench at the side of the pitch. The Catapults had already completed their lap of the stadium and were hovering in the air in starting position.

Draco had a silent moment to thank Merlin that Harry wasn’t playing for them. Their robes were absolutely hideous – a striped mess of green and scarlet. Not even Harry fucking Potter would be able to pull them off. Though Draco wouldn’t mind doing that _for_ him (or whatever he was wearing, really).

Draco searched the Catapults for Oliver Wood and found him easily. Not because he recognised him (if he was being quite honest, Draco couldn’t even have said what Wood looked like – which was apparently quite good), but because he was hovering in the Keeper’s position.

Draco couldn’t even see his face, because Wood was also looking up. Draco followed his line of sight to see what he was looking at. He didn’t know why he even bothered – of _course_ Wood was watching Harry. Draco supposed that he had to, as his former Captain.

Well, who knew? Maybe they got lucky and Wood would be too distracted by his former protégé to concentrate on his job. Though it didn’t seem likely from what Harry had just told them about him.

Now the Falcons were in position too and the referee entered the field with her broom in hand and two broom-boys trailing behind her, carrying the crate. She kicked it open and released the Snitch first. It shot straight up and was gone in an instant. She pointed her wand at the remaining balls and blew her whistle as they flew upwards.

Lauryn Mason snatched the Quaffle out of the air, shot past the opposing Captain and passed the ball to Flynn Montgomery, who was flying a few feet above her. He was just taking aim at Wood’s left hoop when another blow of the whistle interrupted his flow.

None of the players seemed to understand what it meant. Nobody had ever called for a timeout during the very first minute of a game. Nobody had been hurt yet. The referee hadn’t even kicked off. There simply was no reason for the interruption.

None if you didn’t count the Catapults’ Seeker.

“Merlin’s beard, I’ll be damned!” Bagman’s amplified voice rang through the stadium. “He’s got the Snitch, ladies and gentlemen! Taylor Lawrence catches the Snitch in under a minute. That must be a new record. The Caerphilly Catapults win 150 – 0.”

Draco didn’t have to search long to find Lawrence. He was hovering a mere five feet from his starting position, waving the Snitch around like a madman.

The crowd seemed to be divided over how to feel about this development. Some of them were cheering like there was no tomorrow. Others were barracking like they wished that Lawrence wouldn’t live to _see_ tomorrow. Some seemed to have no use for their merchandise anymore and began throwing it at the Seeker.

Even Bagman, who Draco was sure got paid a flat rate for every match commentated, no matter its length, sounded decidedly dissatisfied, though he clearly tried to hide it.

The big screens switched from Lawrence to showing Harry instead, who sat frozen on his broom in apparent shock. Draco thought it was pretty rude to display his discomfort so blatantly, though he didn’t know why he had expected any better of them.

Draco looked up at the real Harry and found him looking right back, a helpless expression on his face. Draco shook his head, meaning to say that it wasn’t _that_ bad. Only that it was.

In the end, Wood didn’t save a single goal and neither did Mills. Draco also didn’t have to heal a single player, which was definitely a first. None of the Beaters even came anywhere near a Bludger. And just like that, the Falcons dropped from second to fifth place in the standings.

The Falcons had barely touched the ground when Greyson was already down on the pitch, rounding them up. They were standing in a circle so none of their faces were visible, but Greyson was obviously furious. He was flailing his arms around wildly, gesturing into the air repeatedly.

“Who knows,” said the Catapults’ Healer, whose name escaped Draco’s mind, “Maybe you’ll get to heal somebody after all. Potter looks like he might try to _drown_ himself in the showers later.”

“Who knows,” replied Draco coldly, “Maybe you’ll be the one in need of healing.”

He had half a mind to walk the talk – a pitch side brawl would certainly distract at least a little bit from the Falcons’ disastrous defeat – but he _did_ know better than to act like a hot-headed Gryffindor. He decided to keep his job and walk away instead, before he was forced to find out if the Catapults’ Healer had just as much restraint as he did.

Draco didn’t exactly know where to go – obviously nobody was in need of healing – so he just headed for the changing rooms. He hadn’t seen Harry at all before coming to the stadium, so there was no plan for after the match. They usually decided what to do afterwards, depending on how late it was and how severe Harry’s injuries were.

Seeing as it was Draco’s birthday, he had hoped that he could guilt Harry into cooking something for him (not that it was very hard) and then taking him to see a movie. But now it was only just ten in the morning, which was far too early to even think about dinner. Besides, Harry mainly cooked when he was happy or angry. Draco didn’t know what a broody Harry did to cheer up.

Draco leaned against the door leading to the changing rooms and watched as the team went over to where a whole throng of reporters had gathered. Greyson nudged Harry with his elbow several times, which probably meant that he wasn’t very forthcoming with his answers. Draco could only imagine the kind of injuries Harry would probably rather endure than that interview.

Draco could relate. He knew from experience that a dozen camera flashes going off in your face were more than disagreeable. Especially when the people taking your picture were going to pair it with headlines such as _‘St. Mungo’s infiltrated by Death Eater’_ or _‘Potter ruins Falcons’ chances at winning the League’_.

It took nearly twenty minutes until Harry was finally allowed to leave the scene. He looked even more exhausted than after a six-hour match. He was dragging his broom over the grass and looking all around pathetic.

Harry had almost reached the changing rooms when something green and red came barrelling towards him from behind. For one horrible second Draco thought he was going to attack Harry, but then the bloke jumped from his broom and landed neatly beside Harry, who grabbed him by the collar in one fluid motion.

“Whoa, easy, Potter,” said Wood, holding up both hands to show that he was unarmed and dropping his broom in the process. “Merlin, not your day either, is it?”

Harry let go immediately, a sheepish look on his face. “That’s an understatement. Sorry about the grabbing.”

Wood waved it away with a hand. “At least you’ll get to play again next month,” he said gloomily.

“Sorry about that too,” said Harry, glancing at Draco. It was clear that he just wanted to leave the pitch.

This seemed to alert Wood to Draco’s presence. He squinted at Draco like he was expecting to get hexed by him. Admittedly, Draco _had_ drawn his wand, and yes, he had done it to maybe stun him, but that had been when he’d still thought that Wood was a rival player planning to attack Harry.

Draco put his wand away incidentally and gave a curt nod. “Wood.”

“Malfoy.” Wood was still squinting. Not a nice look on him.

“Pity about your Seeker.”

“Yes.” Wood turned back to Harry with a look that spoke volumes. Volume one said _‘Why did you let_ him _in on the team?’_. Volume two was called _‘You don’t really trust that bastard, right?’_.

Draco leaned back against his wall, crossed his arms and settled on watching the rest of the teams. Some of the Falcons were still giving interviews. Most of the Catapults were giving autographs (even though they hadn’t even done anything at all except for getting exceptionally lucky).

“Want to grab a butterbeer for old times’ sake? You look like you could use a distraction too.”

“Sorry, Oliver,” said Harry absentmindedly. “I’ve already got plans. Another time?”

“Sure. I’ll pin you down to that.” And then he was finally gone.

Harry entered the changing rooms and Draco followed a few steps behind.

Harry waited until the door had fallen shut before he said, “Always fun to explain to some idiot reporter why I bloody well couldn’t catch a Snitch that practically flew up Lawrence’s sleeve ten seconds after the match started.”

“Certainly looked uncomfortable,” Draco said casually. “Not in the mood to let Wood _‘distract’_ you?”

Harry rolled his eyes at him, Draco just knew. “For someone so confident, you’re pretty insecure. Why do you always assume that everybody’s throwing themselves at me? You certainly never realise when people are doing it with you.”

“Well, with you they usually _are_. Wood said that he’s going to _‘pin you down’_.”

“That’s a figure of speech. Also, Oliver is not gay,” Harry said. Draco could tell that it was meant to be a statement, but it definitely lost some of its certainty before the whole sentence was out. To try and salvage it, Harry added, “Surely not. I would’ve known.”

Draco’s scepticism must’ve been obvious, because Harry continued. “I mean, I’ve never really thought about it. I don’t think he ever even dated at Hogwarts. At all. He was definitely married to Quidditch. _Obsessive_ , I tell you.”

“Well,” said Draco with half a grin. “I’d say _you_ are also bloody attracted to Quidditch, not going to lie.”

“I’m not –” Harry began, but the rest of the sentence was left unspoken as one hand went into his hair quite of its own accord. He dropped down on a bench and took off his robes.

Draco leaned against a wall opposite him. “Chang? Ginny? Me?”

“ _No …_ ” Harry shook his head half-heartedly. “That’s just circumstance, right? I spent a lot of time on the pitch, so the probability that I’d get to know somebody there was higher.”

“ _Sure_ ,” Draco said sarcastically. “Everybody knows how much time there is to talk about interests and such during a Quidditch game.” 

“Anyway!” Harry interrupted quite rudely. “Oliver wouldn’t _‘fraternize with the enemy’_.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t Keepers and Seekers usually have very little contact during a match?”

“Do you _want_ me to get involved with Wood?”

There was the sound of opening doors and then voices coming towards them. Harry focused his attention on undoing his shoelaces.

Draco shrugged and kept his voice neutral. “Not my business, is it? Although, speaking as a Healer, I would advise against it. Just imagine the hassle of being involved with an idiot who constantly gets himself beat up at his job.”

“I don’t know,” said Leona Robinson as she threw her robes at the laundry basket the second she came in. “Imagine dating one of those Gringotts’ zombies.”

Harry’s grin seemed a little strained, but then again, none of them were particularly cheerful. “Don’t be so narrow-minded. That zombie could be your soulmate!”

The next article of clothing, which was a glove, she threw at Harry instead of the basket. He caught it easily and threw it back at her in one swift motion. It missed her head entirely and hit her fellow Beater Easton Haynes in the chest. He merely glanced in Harry’s direction, who instantly tried for an innocent expression.

“Pathetic,” said Haynes earnestly.

Robinson used the distraction to throw the second glove at Harry’s head. He caught that one too, without even looking, and then simply kept it so that she would have to come over to retrieve it, which was definitely more of a power move than chucking it at completely uninvolved bystanders.

Harry looked a whole lot less impressive when Robinson stomped over to him, all muscle and determination. He jumped to his feet and held his free hand up to keep her at a distance, but she simply grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm onto his back and caught him with both arms around his, so they were pressed against his sides.

“No, wait!” Harry shouted. “You can have it back, you win!”

But Robinson just scoffed and lifted him off his feet, completely unimpressed with his struggling.

Harry seemed to realise that he would not get out of it on his own, so he went in search of allies instead. “Easy! A little help, please?”

“Sure,” said Haynes casually. He came over to grab Harry’s legs. “Where do you want him, Leo?”

Draco’s laughter got a little lost in all the others’, but Harry glared at him all the same, if only for a second.

Then Robinson grinned wickedly, tightened her grip around him and said, “Showers.”

“Hey!” Harry said in protest, struggling to get free.

Draco thought that he had made a pretty big mistake in asking Haynes for help. Sure, he’d have been a good ally, but now that he was on Robinson’s side, there really wasn’t any chance of Harry getting out of it.

“Lauryn!”

Mason just laughed louder and shook her head. “I’m definitely not getting wet!”

“Damn you! Phae? Please, I’ll introduce you to Gwenog!”

“You’re about a year too late,” Armstrong said cockily. “That reminds me, she said to give you her best.”

They had reached the shower room now. Robinson was trying to open the door with her elbow. Harry was starting to sound desperate. “ _Guys_ , come on! I’ll let you try the Lightning Blast.”

They all just laughed some more. Robinson finally managed to open the door and then they were gone from sight.

Harry started a last-ditch effort and yelled, “Draco?”

Draco remained seated and called back, “Do I _look_ suicidal?”

Haynes laughed and said, “Don’t try to make a Slytherin join the losing side. We know better. _Hey_ –!”

And then there was the sound of running water, struggling and several voices yelling all at once. 

Draco sighed and said, “I really hope they haven’t dropped him on his head. I’d like to get home sooner rather than later.”

“Uh,” said Keeper Florence Mills, looking up from her bag. “Got someone waiting for you?”

Phaedra Armstrong rolled her eyes, but the rest of the team looked at him expectantly – even Flynn Montgomery, who was the only male player remaining in the locker room.

Draco hesitated, completely caught off-guard. He shot a look over at the shower room, but it didn’t seem like they’d be done in the next second or two. So he tried to look confident and said, “It’s my birthday.”

“ _And_?” prompted Lauryn Mason, twisting a strand of her long, silvery grey hair around one finger.

“And what?”

Montgomery grinned. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Because it was irrelevant to what we were talking about!”

“Alright, then let’s change the topic,” said Mills. She pointed at him with one of her Keeper’s gloves. “So, who are you celebrating with?”

“Friends,” said Draco, who’d had time to think it over.

There was a squeaking noise, like rubber soles on wet floor, and then there was Harry, sopping wet and glaring. “ _Traitors_ ,” he muttered, loud enough so they could hear. “All of you.”

He took off his gloves first and stuffed them into his bag. He was already struggling to take off his tight long-sleeved shirt, which was sticking to his body, when Robinson and Haynes re-emerged, soaking wet as well.

Armstrong grinned. “What happened to you two? Did he drown you?”

“Might as well have,” said Robinson, who was trying to tame her frizzy hair.

Haynes pulled his shirt away from his chest with a squelch and said, “Don’t ask.”

“So,” said Montgomery. “Malfoy was just going to tell us about his better half.”

There was a loud _BANG_ as Harry finally managed to yank his shirt over his head quite suddenly and hit the wall with both fists. He cradled them to his naked chest and glanced at Draco, one eyebrow twitching nervously.

“ _How_ did you still manage to injure yourself after all?” Draco said in disbelief, drawing his wand.

Harry held out both hands in front of him so Draco could heal his bloody knuckles, and whispered, “What the hell?”

And the next second Mills sat down next to them, giving Draco a very pointed look. “So? Tell us everything. Name, age, occupation?”

“Don’t let them extort you,” said Harry with a scowl at his team mates. “They’re way too nosey.”

“Oh, so there _is_ something to tell?”

“That’s not what I said!”

Draco could feel Harry’s hand twitch in his and held it tighter to keep him from plunging it into his hair. He turned it over and inspected the palm too, to allay suspicions.

“ _Uuuuh_ ,” said Mason, grinning at Mills happily. “Harry knows about Malfoy’s special someone.” She turned to Harry and wagged her eyebrows, which, honestly, nobody should ever be caught doing. “Do you tell Malfoy about your _girlfriend_ too?”

“Why would I _want_ to hear about that?” Draco rolled his eyes and let go of Harry’s hands. “Well, if nobody’s planning on bashing their head in while taking off their shoes, I’ll be going now.”

“Gotta be honest,” said Harry gravely, “I’m thinking about it right now. Won’t necessarily be _my_ head, though.”

“Fine with me. Just do it after I’ve gone, will you?” Draco waited to see that Harry was nodding and then got the hell out of there before they could launch any further questions about his private life. It wasn’t called that for nothing, Merlin’s sake!

~o~

First thing Draco did when he came home was take Aurelius for a walk, even though they’d literally just been outside less than two hours ago. It was always like this – Draco tended to overcompensate for the long stretches of time when he was at the hospital. Besides, it didn’t matter if he was gone ten hours or ten minutes – Aurelius always acted like he’d been gone for an eternity.

When he came back to the house half an hour later, Harry’s shoes stood in the hallway, arranged as neatly as always. The shower was running, so Draco unleashed Aurelius, took off his own shoes and went upstairs while touching his necklace as a warning. Harry never took it off.

A great wall of steam rolled over Draco as he opened the door. He left it open and tried to fan some of the steam out of the room as he went over to the shower.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing? It’s like a sauna in here!”

“I was cold,” Harry called over to him, pulling back the shower curtain.

“And you’ll be well done in about five minutes,” said Draco. He was fairly certain that Harry’s skin would be red right now if it were naturally paler.

“Guess you should join me before that happens, then.”

Harry grinned at him like he hadn’t just lost a match in such spectacular fashion that it was sure to go down in Quidditch history. Well, maybe it was easier to handle because there was nothing at all that he could have done differently. He grabbed Draco’s wrist, pulling him closer. His hand felt unbelievably hot on Draco’s bare skin, like he’d absorbed all the heat he could get.

“You must be mad if you think I’m going to get in there with you. I’ll boil to death in under a minute.”

“Don’t be dramatic –”

“I’ve still got blisters from that one time you forgot to turn the heat down after taking a shower!”

“It didn’t _blister_.” Harry rolled his eyes and let the curtain fall closed.

“That so? Enlighten me, Harry, when did you take your Healer’s exams?”

Harry laughed. “I don’t need a license to tell you that. I’ve got _eyes_. You’re just exaggerating. As usual. Now come in before your birthday present expires.”

“Fine,” Draco said and pointed his wand at the shower head, which was only just visible above the curtain.

There was shriek and sudden _thump_ , which could only mean that Harry had jumped away from the stream and into the wall. Draco didn’t have time to enjoy it though, because almost at the same moment there was a _whoosh_ and the shower curtain smacked him full in the face, followed closely by a rather large spray of ice-cold water.

He only got a short glimpse at Harry, who stood pressed against the wall, shield shimmering around his body and one hand outstretched in Draco’s direction, as if to push the water as far away as possible. Which he had apparently just done. Then the shower curtain, still attached to the rod, came back down from behind Draco, enveloping him in a very wet embrace.

“Ugh,” Draco whinged, trying to disentangle himself.

Harry doubled over with laughter. “That’s what you get for trying to freeze me to death.” He turned the heat up again and dropped his shield.

“No need to go all Violet on me for that,” Draco mumbled, pushing the curtain aside as soon as he was free of it.

This time Harry used his hand to splash some more water at him, which really was a little less awful now that it wasn’t as cold. Draco still jumped out of the way, nearly slipping on the wet floor.

Harry was still laughing when Draco turned off the water, dried the floor with a quick charm and then seized him around the waist without a warning. He half pulled and half carried him out of the bathroom and into the bed room, finally throwing him onto the bed in a one-eighty.

He only just caught sight of the bed before Harry landed in the midst of what was apparently his entire wardrobe.

Harry put his arms out to both sides and buried himself beneath a heap of hoodies. “Couldn’t decide what to wear to the game?”

Draco groaned and pushed some of the clothes off the bed so he could lie down beside Harry. “It’s Aurelius. He knows I usually shower after I get back from work, so he lays out something for me to wear.”

“Is that the sweater I lent you last Christmas?” Harry was holding it above his head, so Draco plucked it from his hands and then leaned over to kiss him instead.

“I thought this was about sex, not my wardrobe.”

“Seems like it’s going to be both.” Harry laughed and then pulled the soggy top of Draco’s scrubs over his head.

~o~

“Just tell me!” Draco rolled onto his side to watch as Harry put on Draco’s favourite blue sweater and then rolled the sleeves up a bit.

“You don’t need to know where we’re going. Just wear this and quit whinging.”

Harry pulled some clothes out of the pile on the floor, clearly at random, and threw them at Draco’s naked chest. The sweater actually hit him, but the jeans flew right over him and landed on the other side of the bed.

Draco inspected the sweater critically. It was a washed out blue, quite loose, and Draco hadn’t worn it in years. He’d certainly never wear it when going out.

“There’d better be food where you’re taking me!”

Harry laughed like that was the funniest thing Draco had ever said. “Don’t worry. Come on, I don’t wanna be late.”

“Late? It’s barely noon.”

“Exactly. Get dressed and then meet me downstairs.”

When Draco came downstairs a few minutes later, dressed in his second-best sweater, Harry was already waiting for him in the hallway, holding Aurelius in his arms. They raised their eyebrows at each other.

“What was wrong with the one I picked out for you?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s _old_.”

“It looked comfy.”

“No _wonder_ Samantha tells you what to wear,” said Draco pointedly. “You do realise that Lee is not a lapdog?”

Holding eye contact, Harry placed a kiss on top of Aurelius’ furry head. “Yep. But we’re taking him with us, so you get to carry him.”

And before Draco could so much as protest, Harry handed the dog over to him and Draco was left with the choice to either take him or drop him on the floor, which was, of course, no choice at all.

“Great!” said Harry enthusiastically, and he grabbed Draco’s arm and twisted.

~o~

“I’m just saying –”

“Yeah, I know.”

“– nobody should eat that much at once.”

“I _know_.”

“Is it lunch? Is it tea? You have got to _decide_!”

“Well, we _were_ early. I think Molly just panicked when I owled her that we’d be there three hours sooner than agreed. Hand me that one up there, will you? With the guys who look like Gryffindor and Dumbledore.”

Draco reached over Harry’s head and handed him the movie he was pointing at. “I’m just _saying_.”

“Yeah. I know. Oh, that’s no good, no way I’m sitting through three hours of unwashed men wandering around aimlessly.” Harry handed the movie back to him and Draco put it back on the highest shelf.

“I don’t know how you managed the soup _and_ the main course _and_ two slices of cake.”

“Years of training.”

Harry picked up another box, this one on a considerably lower shelf and with an orange fish on the cover. Draco suspected that meant it was for children.

“Where do you put it all?”

“I _told_ you to wear that sweater I picked out for you. You’d have had plenty of room in there for both lunch and cake.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Draco, patting Harry’s stomach. It didn’t even jiggle a little bit, which frustrated him more than he was willing to admit. It certainly wasn’t fair.

Harry didn’t react. He was glaring at a woman who stood in front of the shelf next to theirs, shielding her child’s eyes with both hands and giving them a scandalised look.

Draco leaned over to Harry so he could whisper, “What’s happening?”

Harry wasn’t trying to keep his voice down. “I think this lady has something to say.”

“Is it the sweater?” Draco lowered his voice even further.

He was wearing his newest Weasley sweater (green again, but with a silver dragon stitched to the front). He hadn’t wanted to keep it on for their trip to the video store, but Harry had assured him that the Muggles knew about the concept of dragons.

“No,” Harry took his hand and squeezed. “Don’t worry.”

It seemed like the woman didn’t have anything to say after all. She just sneered at them and then turned on the spot and all but dragged her child out of the video store.

“What in Merlin’s name was that? She wasn’t one of _us_ , right?”

Draco was used to this behaviour on those occasions when patients made it crystal clear that they didn’t want to be treated by a _Death Eater_. He’d never seen people react to Harry that way, though. Although he wouldn’t be surprised if people reacted in a similar fashion if they ever found out about the two of them.

“I’ll explain outside. Come on.”

Harry glanced at all the shelves they hadn’t checked out yet, and then sighed. It was apparent that his enthusiasm had vanished completely. Draco followed him to the counter and watched as he handed the clerk some money for the stack of movies he was holding. They’d been planning to shortlist them, but that had apparently just been cancelled.

“Is it because adults aren’t supposed to watch children’s movies?” Draco asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

“No.” Harry didn’t elaborate at once, busying himself with untying Aurelius from the lamppost instead. He led the way around a corner and onto the high street. “It was because you touched me inappropriately. _In public_.”

Draco stopped in his tracks. A man ran into him from behind, excused himself quite inexplicably and went around him. Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him along before there could be any more collisions.

“What did I _do_?”

Draco couldn’t believe it. He was one of the biggest opponents of PDA there was. He still blushed when he thought about the way Harry had just kissed him in front of all his friends. He would never even _consider_ hugging Harry in public. It had taken him several weeks to get used to holding hands. There must have been some Muggle taboo Harry hadn’t told him about.

Harry sighed. “It’s alright; you did nothing wrong. It was just the combination of you touching me at all and her being a homophobe.”

“Muggles have those?” Draco’s voice was several shades too loud to count as a whisper.

“Oh boy,” said Harry. “Have I got news for you.”

“But why? I thought that was a … you know …” Now Draco really did whisper, “… a Pure-blood thing. Securing the bloodline.”

“Mostly religion, I think. My aunt and uncle had pretty … firm views on that kind of thing. Adam and Eve being the very first dream couple and everything. And everybody knows that what comes first is always best and nothing ever gets improved over time. Not _that_ perfect, were they? Got kicked out by the big guy himself. Doesn’t sound to me like he was their biggest fan after all. But sure, let’s strive to be just like them.”

Yeah, Harry was salty.

“So maybe we shouldn’t …?” Draco said slowly, releasing Harry’s hand.

Harry growled and slung his arm around Draco’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his side. Then he pressed a kiss to his cheek, stumbling a little into Draco, probably because he had to get on his tiptoes and they were still very much caught in the surge of people.

“It’s not all of them, just the backwards ones. And we don’t _ever_ bow down to them.”

And then Harry pulled him to the side and into a small supermarket, saying in his most determined voice, “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Let’s just celebrate your birthday. Snacks!”

~o~

Draco realised something was wrong roughly three minutes into the movie. It had been fine at first, a safe choice after the tumultuous day they’d had. How could you go wrong with a children’s movie?

But then the cheerful, vibrant scene had changed abruptly and suddenly they had a self-sacrificing mother-fish at their hands, and Aurelius was whining and putting his head in Harry’s lap, who lunged at the chance to direct all his attention at the dog instead.

He wasn’t sure who acted first, but it sure was chaotic.

“I’m not feeling it,” said Ron at the same time as Draco exclaimed “I don’t think I want to watch a children’s movie after all.”

The screen went black, and Hermione, remote control in hand, said, “You know, ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ is supposed to be really good.”

“Heathens! All of you!” Ella was pointing her finger at each of them in turn. “Nemo is a _classic_. Everyone will still be talking about it in twenty years and then you’ll look a proper charlie.”

“You’ve seen it five times already,” said Olivia in her sweetest voice, glancing at Harry repeatedly.

Draco didn’t know how much she knew, but she had obviously picked up on something. Every time Draco saw her, he felt more and more that he didn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her, much less be her friend. She was just too pure to exist in the same universe as somebody like him.

And that was how they ended up watching a pirate movie, which really was alright with Draco, because there wasn’t any weird _technology_ or obscure references the others understood and he didn’t. Plus, there was even a blood curse. Draco had been obsessed with those at age six or seven.

In the end, they even took the underground back to Draco’s, because it wasn’t _that_ far and Draco wasn’t sure if they really should Apparate Aurelius thrice in one day. He didn’t seem to like it that much.

Nobody looked at them funny on the bus, the night air was mild, and when they walked the last ten minutes to Draco’s house, Harry took his hand again. And Draco felt all warm and tingly and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! 😊


	41. Misery Business [Friday, June 17th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to the lovely people who let me know what they thought about the latest chapter: WildvanillaRose, Fan, ThatBoringOne, burninglikeacid, illindalenti, Bismuth_209, Slytherinz_Ghost, serilla, Fujoshidesukara, hush_over_the_night, filidoune and XOX_Eternity_XOX! 😊
> 
> I really means so much to me to get feedback, and some of you really wrote a lot, so thanks a galleon for that! 😘
> 
> Title: Paramore - Misery Business

There was a very faint whooshing sound around three in the afternoon. Draco, who was trained in picking up these subtle noises by now, finished his notes and then put the papers back into his research folder. There, neat and tidy.

Draco’s necklace grew hot against his skin (he didn’t really know why Harry thought he had to announce his presence at his own house – _Draco_ had never once attacked him). He heard someone come up the stairs and turned to watch the door, but instead of Harry, a medium-sized chest came floating through.

“I’ve brought you something!” Harry announced, and the chest landed next to the fireplace, perfectly aligned.

“A late birthday present? Is it more clothes?” Draco asked hopefully, approaching the chest.

Harry stepped in front of it, blocking his path. “ _Better._ ”

“Better than clothes?” He kissed Harry, draping his arms around him. Then he lifted him up a few inches and turned, so that he wasn’t standing in the way anymore. Draco _loved_ surprises!

“It’s a boggart.”

Draco dropped him back onto his feet.

 _Usually_ , Draco loved surprises. He refrained from opening the chest and took a few steps back. Why did Harry sound so excited about a fucking boggart?

“And why did you think I wanted a boggart? Was it something I said? If so, you clearly misunderstood me.”

“You will learn to produce a Patronus.” Harry said it as if that was the most logical thing in the world. He looked mighty pleased with himself.

“With a boggart?”

“It’s a stand-in. _Crazy_ as that sounds, I couldn’t get a dementor.”

Merlin, _why_ did Draco have to go for somebody that was so impulsive? His life had been a lot less crazy before Harry had decided to squeeze his way into it.

“It won’t turn into a dementor if I open that chest.”

“It will for me. I’ll just stand in front of you the whole time. Here, I’ll show you.”

Draco grabbed his arm before he could take so much as a step forward. “I don’t give a fuck about the Patronus! Get rid of it!”

Harry put his hands up in surrender. “Fine. Didn’t know you were such a wimp.”

He was clearly trying to rile him up, but Draco wasn’t biting this time. He really didn’t want him to open that chest. Even if the boggart didn’t focus on Draco, facing a dementor wasn’t exactly an upgrade. He knew for a fact that there were some very disturbing memories buried somewhere deep inside his subconscious. He didn’t need them dug up.

Draco grabbed his folder and fled into the kitchen. He heard Harry say something in Parsel and then there was the sound of his attic opening up. Fine with Draco – it wasn’t like he was planning on ever going up there again. That room didn’t really hold any pleasant memories either.

Harry joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later and started on their late lunch. They were silent for a few minutes, Harry concentrating on his cooking spells and Draco pretending to be able to read his notes.

“I just thought …,” Harry said suddenly, his back still turned. “We could help each other out. You’ll try to get rid of some of those damned scars for me and I’ll help with your Patronus. Win-win.”

Draco shuffled some of his papers noisily, so Harry wouldn’t get any funny ideas. Like that he was taking this conversation seriously.

“The way I see it, we’d both get to suffer. Isn’t that what _normal_ people call lose-lose?”

“I’m talking long-term.”

“Do you expect me to come into contact with dementors in the future?” Draco asked pointedly. It was a little mean, but he really wanted this discussion to come to an end. Permanently.

“You _know_ I don’t think that!” Harry turned around now. “Patronuses are good for a lot of things! Let’s say there’s an emergency. You can’t send an owl, that would take ages.”

Draco took out his St. Mungo’s badge and slapped it onto the kitchen island. “Protean Charm. I’m sure you are familiar as you already enchanted the Snitch.”

“That only works if you set it up beforehand. And even then, you need to have it on you to notice. What if we’re both in trouble and need to contact somebody else besides each other?”

“There won’t be an emergency. Let it go, Potter.”

“Face it, _Malfoy_. You don’t want me to teach you because you’re scared you won’t get the hang of it.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “You’re one to talk, Potter.”

“ _Me?_ ” Harry crossed his arms too, like that was the most absurd thing he had ever heard.

Draco laughed. “Where do I even begin? How about all the glamours and the Polyjuice and the Cloak? Ready to quit them?”

Harry threw his hands up in frustration. “That’s not because I’m _afraid_. I don’t have all day for a trip to Diagon or Mungo’s. I’d like to be left alone when I go out, that’s all.”

“Three jumps, no matter where you go?”

“That’s _not_ true,” said Harry at once. “I only do three when I Apparate from an unsafe location. And that’s completely _reasonable_ given past experiences.”

“Then what about _this_?” Draco dropped to his feet and opened the rightmost kitchen drawer, which contained a few dish-cloths and the hawthorn wand.

Harry’s mouth was pressed into a very thin line. “What about it?”

“Why do you keep it here? You have a wand. You don’t need this one.”

“It’s for emergencies. I like to know there is a backup if someone gets in and disarms me.”

Draco fixed Harry with a stern look. “Get in _how_?”

“By breaking in?”

Draco shook his head. “Your wards are insane. Nobody gets in here.”

“They _could_ , if they grab me while I Apparate.”

“Then you’ll shake them off at one of your intermediate stops. That’s what they’re for, right?”

“You never know, alright? You can’t be too prepared.”

“You _can_ be paranoid,” objected Draco. “Nobody gets in here but you, me, occasionally Samantha and a handful owls. And I really hope you don’t expect _me_ to attack you one day.” Draco rubbed his lower arm absentmindedly. “But if you do, you certainly shouldn’t keep that wand where _I_ can get to it too.”

Harry slammed the drawer shut and got started on the pasta dough without another word. Fine – if _that_ was how he wanted to play this, then Draco would play. He grabbed his notes and stomped back into the sitting room. He could hear Harry’s frustrated groan all the way upstairs.

Harry seemed to have decided to let it go for the time being. He didn’t address the chest again during lunch and left Draco to his research afterwards. Draco suspected that he felt a tiny bit guilty about springing the boggart on him like that, because when the time came to get ready for the evening, he let Draco pick out his clothes – as if he didn’t know that Draco would choose the emerald shirt. There was no such thing as being overdressed.

~o~

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ , Olli!”

Draco seized Harry’s wrist to keep him from knocking on Lauren and Olivia’s door.

“Hey, no name calling!”

“I’ll call you whatever I want! You’re disgusting!”

“What is it?” Harry asked, as if he hadn’t just heard his friends yell at each other, even though it had been him who had wanted to go back when they had unwillingly Floo-ed in while Ron and Hermione had been having an argument about dinner.

“They’re fighting,” Draco said pointedly. “Maybe we should wait until it winds down?”

They couldn’t hear what Olivia said but Lauren’s, “I’m getting a _divorce_ , I swear!” could probably be heard throughout the whole block.

“That’s not a fight,” Harry said with a wave of his free hand, which he then used to knock.

“Not it!” Olivia said loudly, but Lauren wasn’t having it.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight so you can do _that_! Get up!”

There were a few seconds during which – by the sound of it – they seemed to wrestle (Draco certainly would place no bets on Olivia) and then the door finally opened. Lauren’s ponytail was in disarray. They couldn’t see much of Olivia (expect for her butt), because Lauren had thrown her over her shoulder.

“Hey,” Harry said, hugging the side of her that wasn’t busy holding on to her girlfriend. Then he gave Olivia a pat on the head and went inside.

Draco lingered for a second, unsure how to handle the scene, and then inclined his head slightly and followed Harry hurriedly.

“What the _hell_?” Harry stood in front of their tiny, round kitchen table, one hand buried in his hair in a rather confused gesture. He turned to Lauren for an explanation.

She dropped Olivia onto the couch and then immediately put both hands on her hips. “Exactly! Who _does_ that? Thank goodness I came home in time.”

Olivia propped herself up on her lower arms, completely unimpressed by Lauren and Harry’s criticism. “Well, _Luna_ told me –”

Both Lauren and Harry groaned. Harry sat down on one of the chairs. Lauren said, “Well, that fucking explains it.”

Draco went over to the table to see what the fuss was. There was a cutting board on the table, on which Olivia had placed, rather neatly, five strings of spaghetti, which she had braided for about half their length. There was about half a pot of spaghetti still standing next to it.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Draco asked, turning his head from side to side, searching for the meaning behind it.

Olivia sat up on the couch and tugged at her crumbled clothes. “It’s going to be a snack. You cook spaghetti, braid them and then brush some spicy paste on them for flavour –”

“That sounds ridiculous,” Lauren snorted. “Why do you need to braid them?”

“– and then you freeze them –”

“Over my dead body!”

“– so you can snack on them later.”

“So, why do you have to braid them?” Harry asked.

“They’re kind of like a granola bar that way.”

Lauren threw her hands up in frustration. “Don’t you bloody tell me you actually eat them _frozen_!”

Olivia rolled her eyes at her. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“That’s an atrocity! You’d better pray that I don’t tell my nonna about this.”

“Your nonna loves me,” Olivia said, unimpressed.

“Yeah well, because she hasn’t heard about this yet. You just can’t do this to spaghetti! That’s a federal crime in Italy.”

“ _Is_ it, though?” asked Draco, now eyeing a small bowl of paste with a pastry brush sticking out of it.

“ _Harry!_ ” Lauren said accusingly, pointing at Draco as if she were telling him to call back a misbehaving pet.

“You know I’m not actually –”

“You’ll never convince me – You’re Italian looking!” Lauren said with conviction. “And you know how to cook. Tell those two that you can’t abuse spaghetti like that.”

Harry used the fork from the pot to prod the spaghetti braid. Then he swirled it around the fork, apparently satisfied with his inspection. “I told you my grandmother was from Greece and – _FUCK ME_ , that’s hot.”

“I couldn’t find all of the spices Luna told me to get,” Olivia said casually. “I’m not even sure all of them exist. Anyway, I had to improvise.”

“No kidding,” Harry breathed, fanning his face. “What did you substitute with the chilli?”

“ _Dragon_ grass?” Olivia said, and it came out like a question. “Is that a thing? Well, it sounded spicy, so I decided on chilli.”

Draco sent a pointed look in Harry’s direction, who was too busy fanning his face (with both hands now) to notice. Anybody who had ever paid attention in Potions knew that Dragon grass was a mild, rather minty leaf which could be used to temporarily disable a Dragon’s fire breath ... and also to cure acid reflux (which didn’t sound nearly as impressive).

“Let’s go,” Harry said, voice breaking slightly, “I need some fresh air.”

They took a bus to the cinema, which was almost as bad as taking the underground on Christmas. Harry was pressed tightly against Draco’s chest, which he didn’t mind, but there was also some strange girl pressed against his back, and that he minded very much. He vowed not to let himself be talked into taking the bus ever again. He would rather walk back, if he absolutely had to.

The girls had picked the movie, which had a totally nondescript title, but was apparently about a hot, rich, married couple living in the suburbs. Oh and also, they were secretly _assassins_. Draco was relieved to see that the line of waiting movie-goers consisted in equal parts of men and women, which was probably a good sign. Draco also recognised the actors from the covers of some magazines that were always displayed in his Muggle supermarket, so he figured they were probably successful.

“Double date?” the lady at the box office asked, smiling sweetly.

“Yep,” Lauren said, sliding some money over the counter just as Harry did the same.

This seemed to confuse the lady for a moment, because she hesitated before handing both of them a pair of tickets. “Oh, I thought _you_ two were a couple.” She laughed, her eyes flicking between Lauren and Harry.

Draco guessed that she had paired them by colour. Lauren and Harry were very similar in complexion, while both Olivia and Draco were almost translucent. He wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to find that racist or homophobic, so he decided to go with racist _and_ homophobic.

“Those are the perils of hanging out with the guys,” Lauren sighed, slinging an arm around Olivia’s waist and kissing her temple softly while maintaining eye contact the whole time.

The lady turned bright red and handed out their change without another word.

~o~

Draco felt exhausted after the movie. He was used to sitting still for hours on end from the hospital, but he definitely needed some time to adjust to watching rapidly moving pictures for two hours straight.

And then there was the noise. He was surprised Harry could stand all those explosions and death. Draco’s hand felt cramped from clinging to Harry’s the entire time. Maybe he was used to those things by now. Most movies seemed to be somewhat explosion-heavy. Besides, Harry could handle himself in direct attacks. What he really seemed to be afraid of were ambushes, people breaking into his house in the dead of night.

“So,” said Draco casually as they were walking Lauren and Olivia home afterwards, trailing some ways behind the girls, who had run ahead to look at something in a shop window. “When were you going to tell me that my house is going to blow up?”

Harry snorted, obviously caught off guard. Draco didn’t turn his head, but he could feel the side-eye on him. Harry sounded severe when he said, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Draco jabbed an elbow into his side and Harry laughed, pushing him away and then reeling him back in by his hand. “Kidding! Why would _your_ house blow up? Are there people out to get you? If so, now would be a great time to mention it.”

“This is serious, Potter! Is my kitchen going to blow up? I _knew_ I shouldn’t have left that Muggle stove in!”

“I have one too, you know?”

Draco groaned. “So, your house is going to blow up too. Great.”

Harry laughed again and squeezed his hand. “It won’t blow up. That almost never happens. Except in the movies, of course.”

“ _Almost_ never? Really, Potter? That’s the best you can do?”

“Don’t worry. I _promise_ it won’t blow up.”

Really reassuring.

They kept walking in silence for a few minutes, still holding hands, which made Draco’s heart beat faster in excitement. He kept looking over his shoulder nervously, ready to let go at a moment’s notice.

“Stop it,” Harry mumbled, squeezing his hand. “Nobody will recognise us.”

Then he pulled him in by the hand and slung his arm around Draco’s waist, squeezing him tightly against his body.

“Potter,” Draco muttered pointedly.

But Harry just grinned up at him. “It’s not a hug,” he said smugly. Then he stood up on tiptoes and pressed his lips against Draco’s cheek. “And technically, that wasn’t a kiss.”

“Gay!” Lauren yelled from somewhere up ahead. Then, before Draco could give Harry a very pointed look, she added, “Come on, we want pizza.”

Draco pushed Harry away. His cheeks were getting awfully hot as he dragged Harry along to catch up with the girls.

Harry laughed at him and then squeezed his hand again. “You’re so cute when you act all proper, you posh git.”

Lauren and Olivia were kissing some way ahead, leaning against a wall, completely unimpressed by all the potential onlookers.

“ _Gay!_ ” Harry repeated. Lauren just gave him the finger, but Olivia giggled.

When they finally reached the pizza place, it was stuffed to bursting and there was a huge line outside.

“Welp, guess you’re out of luck, Lor,” Harry said. “We could try that Thai place down at Trafalgar Square instead?”

“I got it,” Lauren said. She glanced at the door and then pulled out her mobile phone, punched in some numbers and held it to her face. “Buonasera!”

She said something else in Italian and then looked at them and whispered, “What do you want?” She relayed their order and then put away her phone. “Ten minutes.”

“You’re allowed to do that?” Harry looked like a whole new world of possibilities had opened up to him.

“I’m not waiting half an hour for a pizza,” Lauren said with a grin. “I’m hungry _now_.”

The girls went inside to pick up their pizzas ten minutes later. Lauren was pushing her way through the crowd resolutely, pulling Olivia with her, who kept apologising to every single person they passed. Either Olivia’s innocent face or Lauren’s muscular physique were working – nobody protested, though several people looked displeased to say the least.

They went down to Trafalgar Square with their pizzas and sat down on the steps to eat. The night was clear and warm and there was a pleasant breeze going. Draco watched Harry stuff his face with four cheese pizza and tried to think of a time when things had ever been as easy as this. Then Harry looked at him and smiled happily, and a warm feeling spread out from Draco’s stomach. He doubted it had anything to do with the pizza.

“So,” Lauren said in between bites. “You would tell us if you were secretly assassins, right?”

“ _Lauren!_ ” Olivia said in a scandalised voice. “It’s always better not to know these things! You get killed if you know too much.”

“ _Us_?” Harry laughed, which must have been a challenge with a mouth as full as his. “What about you two? Lauren, you know about a billion martial arts.”

“Four,” Lauren corrected, tossing back her long hair and looking very pleased.

“And I’m not entirely sure the whole yoga thing isn’t just a cover for Liv’s _real_ talents. I’m one hundred percent certain she knows how to manoeuvre a car chase.”

Draco thought back to his first (and hopefully last) car ride, which had been the stuff nightmares were made of. Since his mouth was still full, he had to settle for a nod.

“Oh _please_ ,” Lauren said. “You’re the mysterious ones, Harry. We know practically nothing about your past, except that you’ve got a tragic backstory and went to some elite boarding school – which is probably a spy academy, now that I really think about it. Also, you’ve got crazy reflexes, that can’t be normal. And you’re always cold, which is probably because of some kind of nerve damage you suffered during a botched assignment.”

Draco swallowed and said “That’s not how nerve damage works.”

“And you,” Lauren said, moving on to Draco, who managed not to flinch at the sudden motion. “Same school, so that’s a given, and also a _very_ mysterious past. I’m thinking some kind of Russian spy. That’s the reason you don’t know anything that’s got to do with pop culture or technology. Or even regular slang.”

“Russian?” Draco asked, looking down at his pale hands. They were slightly greasy, so he wiped them on a napkin.

“Yeah, I could see it,” Lauren said, squinting her eyes at him. “And I think Drago is a Russian name.”

“My name’s not _Drago_ ,” Draco protested, sliding his almost empty pizza box over to Harry.

“That’s what a spy would say,” Olivia quipped, accepting a bite of Lauren’s pizza.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve got television in Russia,” Harry said. “And music.”

Draco tried to grab Harry’s hands, but he couldn’t stop him from wiping them on the designer jeans Draco had picked out for him. Draco made an aborted noise that Harry commented with the raise of an eyebrow.

Draco felt the urge to whip out his wand and spell them clean right away, but he couldn’t do that, of course. Harry grinned wickedly – because he knew exactly what Draco was thinking right then – and took the last slice of Draco’s pizza.

“Spies are probably not allowed to watch TV,” Lauren said. “They’re too busy training. Also, they’re supposed to be detached.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about the Russian spy system,” Draco said pointedly, raising an eyebrow at her. “Suspicious. And you used your secret bilingualism to get us these pizzas.”

“Are you thinking Mafia?” Harry asked, clicking his fingers at him. Draco’s pizza was already gone.

Draco, who had no idea what that was, nodded.

“Hey,” Lauren said, pointing at Draco with a slice of pizza. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re trying to distract us.”

“From ...?” Draco prompted, trying to sound confident.

He straightened his shirt sleeves and then chanced a glance at Harry, keeping his face as calm as possible. If he fucked up, they could always Obliviate the girls, even if Harry wouldn’t like it.

“Your weird childhood.”

“My childhood wasn’t _weird_ ,” Draco protested. His voice sounded cold, but there was nothing he could do about that if Lauren insisted on being rude.

“He grew up in a Manor,” Harry said while wiping his hands on his jeans again.

Draco sent him a stern look, both for the statement and his complete disregard for quality clothing. Well, at least he was steering clear of his shirt.

“What?” Harry said defiantly, “It’s true. You had servants and everything. Very formal.”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“You call your parents _‘Father’_ and _‘Mother’_.”

Olivia and Lauren had stopped chewing and were both watching Draco with wide eyes, like he had become a whole other person.

“I don’t call them anything anymore seeing as they _disowned_ me.”

Draco got up from the steps and dragged his sleeves all the way down over his palms, even though he wasn’t cold. His hands were shaking slightly, so he turned his back on the others and went down the stairs at a dignified pace. So much for things being easy.

There were a few hushed sentences being spoken behind him and then he heard them gather up their things and follow after him. Harry hooked his arm through Draco’s and pulled him closer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I was just trying to explain.”

“That I grew up under a rock?”

“That it’s not your fault you don’t know about all the things that are obvious to them.”

“I don’t go around telling people about _your_ childhood,” Draco said coldly. Not that he knew all that much about it, apart from that Harry had grown up with his aunt, uncle and dim-witted cousin, and that he had hated it.

“You’re right,” Harry said earnestly. “I didn’t realise it was a touchy subject. Forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it,” Draco said slowly, which practically meant he had already forgiven him but wasn’t ready to tell him yet. Harry could squirm for a while.

The girls caught up with them. They were shooting careful glances his way, but didn’t say anything. Harry squeezed his arm from time to time, as if to apologise for making things awkward.

“I slept in a cupboard under the stairs until I turned eleven,” Harry announced suddenly. His voice was casual, but he was staring straight ahead so he wouldn’t have to look at any of them.

“Why ...?” Olivia said slowly.

“That’s weird.” Lauren commented, apparently eager to steer the conversation away from Draco. “Did you like that cupboard so much you refused to leave it?”

Harry’s arm tensed against Draco’s. He was silent for a few paces, clearly regretting having said anything. Draco nudged him with his elbow and Harry glanced at him for a split second.

“My aunt and uncle didn’t want to _waste_ a room on me. They only gave me one when our school’s headmaster found out about it.”

Draco stared at Harry’s profile. He had lived in a literal cupboard for over a decade? No wonder he was so small. Draco thought about his own room at the Manor, which had been as big as the whole ground floor of the house he was now living in.

“Did he send child protective services?” Olivia breathed out.

She had turned very pale and her eyes were glued to Harry’s hand, where the words _‘I must not tell lies’_ were permanently visible. Draco had always assumed they weren’t able to see the scar, because nobody ever mentioned it. It seemed that the Muggles were just too tactful to broach such a delicate topic.

“It wasn’t as easy as that,” Harry said vaguely. “Let’s talk about something else. Lauren, Liv, your turn.”

Lauren was working her jaw, like she wanted nothing more than to punch Harry’s relatives in the face. Draco shared the feeling, though he had a few choice hexes he would like to try, Azkaban or not.

“Umm ...” Liv said, thinking hard. “I only learned how to swim when I met Lauren. A twenty-year-old girl taking beginners’ lessons. It was embarrassing.”

“Tiny children kept overtaking her,” Lauren chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. She slung an arm around Olivia’s shoulder and smiled at her fondly. “It was _hilarious_. I took a video; I can show you sometime.”

“Well, at least you learned,” Draco said encouragingly. “You wouldn’t believe how many people drown every year. It’s not a pretty death.”

Harry was silent. Draco exchanged worried glances with the girls.

“Guess that just leaves me,” Lauren said, taking a deep breath. “Here goes nothing ... I love penny dreadfuls.”

Harry snorted very loudly and probably involuntarily. He finally turned to look at her, which meant Draco could only see the back of his head.

“You _don’t_.”

“Yeah, she does.”

Olivia was giggling and Harry laughed full out while Lauren acted as if she was fine with all of it. Draco had no idea what was so funny about that. He knew about pennies from the Muggle supermarket, but he didn’t know what could make them dreadful. The words sounded vaguely like something to eat.

“Are there even lesbian ones?” Harry said in between laughing and breathing. So probably nothing edible?

Lauren shrugged and said with a straight face, “I like the straight ones.”

Harry turned to have another laugh with Draco, who gave him a very confused look. Harry grinned and leaned in to whisper into his ear.

“Think those really cheap, really kitsch Veela romance novels.”

Draco grimaced and laughed at the same time. “No way!”

“I find them relaxing!” Lauren cracked her knuckles. “Also, I’m gonna have to kill all of you now.”

Harry scoffed. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Harry, I’ve kicked you arse so many times, you better believe I could end you.”

Draco couldn’t help but giggle, though he managed to rein it in after a second. He hoped nobody had heard that. It was just absurd to think that Lauren would be able to kill The Saviour.

“That was kickboxing!” Harry argued. “We’re talking about a fight to the death. There are no rules during those. _Maybe_ you’d be able to off Draco.”

“ _Probably_ ,” Draco agreed.

“He got bitchslapped before,” Harry elaborated.

“Hey, I already agreed!”

Harry only grinned. “It was a double bitchslap, considering he was slapped because he was being a bitch.”

Draco elbowed him in the ribs hard and Harry let go of his arm. “I thought you wanted me to forgive you? You’re doing a piss-poor job.”

“Are you denying you were being a bitch?”

“I’d prefer not to think back to that moment.”

Lauren grinned at them broadly, pulling Olivia closer at the same time. “If that isn’t an admission of guilt, I don’t know what is.”

“Hermione didn’t have to slap me,” Draco mumbled.

“You got off easy!” Harry laughed.

“Hermione?” Olivia sounded incredulous. “She doesn’t look like the violent type!”

“Hermione is ruthless!” Draco disagreed vehemently, thinking back to Rita Skeeter, whom she blackmailed, and that Edgecombe girl, who still made regular trips to St. Mungo’s to get those scars treated that Hermione’s jinx had caused in fifth year.

“Hermione gets shit done,” Harry agreed.

“Don’t cross Hermione,” Lauren said, sounding impressed. “Got it. On a completely unrelated note, do you wanna see the gym? It’s not far.”

“Won’t it be closed?”

“Yeah, but we’ve got the keys.” Lauren patted her miniature backpack.

~o~

“Maybe I _should_ take up yoga,” said Draco contently, staring up at the ceiling.

Lauren poked his arm from the yoga mat to his left. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re not doing yoga right now. You’re just lying on the floor.”

“Don’t discourage him, Lor!” Olivia was sitting cross-legged on her instructor’s mat at the front of the room, directly in front of the mirrored wall.

“Well, the mats are comfortable.”

Lauren sat upright and grinned down at him. “Please, if you like _these_ puny mats, wait ‘til you’ve seen _mine_.” She jumped to her feet, grabbed Draco’s arms and pulled him up so forcefully that he stumbled into her.

“Lauren, stop enticing my customers!”

But Lauren ignored her and put a hand around his upper arm, leading him out of the room, up two stairs and down a hall, with Harry and Olivia following after them.

Lauren’s room was a little less calming than Olivia’s. There were no plants, for one. The colour scheme was a whole lot different, for another. Where Olivia’s gym was painted in a soothing mint green, Lauren’s was mostly dark red and black, which created a decidedly aggressive atmosphere. Then there were the banners – the black silhouette of a wolf against a red background.

Draco glanced from the banners to Harry and back again, the message clear. Harry just shrugged and grinned crookedly. No wonder he’d ended up here – a plethora of red, a predatory animal for a mascot – he must’ve felt right at home. There was also some kind of cage at the far end of the gym. Also, the floor felt oddly spongy.

Lauren picked up some kind of miniature mat, which was certainly thicker than the ones Olivia had.

“Why is it so small?” Draco asked. He would never be able to fit his whole body onto _that_. “That’s your impressive mat?”

“No, it’s not.” She grinned. “The whole floor is my mat. This is a kicking shield. Here, hold it.” She handed the shield to him and then showed him where to place his hands. “Alright, now Harry’s going to kick it.”

Harry groaned. “Do you have any idea how much pizza I had?”

Draco wasn’t really on board either. “Are you crazy? His aim is terrible! He’s going to kick my head off if he aims for that thing!”

“Hey!” Harry protested, shaking his fist at him in exaggeration. “My feet work just fine!”

Lauren snorted loudly. “He does have a point! You can’t throw for your life. Thank God you work with your legs.”

“Yeah, _Draco_ ,” said Harry pointedly, like he was daring him to disagree. “If I can hit a moving football, I can hit that thing while you’re holding it still, right?”

Like Draco could argue with that without telling them that Harry had probably never played football in his life. Or maybe he _had_ ; Draco didn’t know just how popular the sport was. Either way, Draco didn’t really have much confidence in Harry’s aim.

Harry bounced on the spot, presumably to loosen up.

Draco threw the shield at him, exclaiming, “Try kicking me now!” but Harry snatched it out of the air and threw it back at him in one swift move.

It nailed Draco in the head and he landed flat on his arse. Well, that certainly explained why they had a mat for a floor. They should really get those for Quidditch. Or better yet, just allow cushioning charms on the ground.

“Oh fuck!” Harry leaned down to offer him a hand while the girls laughed. Draco really hoped it wasn’t at him.

“Aiming at my legs, were you?”

He took Harry’s hand and yanked. Harry landed on his hands and knees and Draco used the moment of surprise to push him over, mostly to save face in front of the girls. Just in case they _had_ been laughing at him. Well, they laughed even more now, which was probably why Harry glared at him.

“You don’t want to start this, Malfoy.”

“You’re not _scared_ , are you Potter?”

It wasn’t that Draco particularly wanted to do this here or in front of the girls at all. It was just that he couldn’t back down _now_. The challenge was issued. Whoever backed out lost. Harry’s eyes narrowed.

They lunged at each other at the same time. For a split second, Draco had the upper hand, managing to come out on top and grab both of Harry’s upper arms. And suddenly it was gone. Harry used his own momentum to turn them around, but then Draco did the same and they took another turn and then another, until Draco’s head was spinning dangerously.

Harry was on top and there was no momentum left. He had both of Draco’s wrists pinned to the ground, one knee pressed against his chest and a victorious grin on his face. Draco struggled for a second or two and then gave up. There simply was no way he could muster enough strength to overthrow Harry, who was all muscle and determination.

He looked strong and attractive and _brilliant_ and Draco’s heart felt full to bursting even as his lungs struggled to function under the pressure. Getting his arse kicked had never felt so good.

“ _Love you_.”

The words were barely a whisper and out before Draco could take full control of his traitorous mouth. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and his lips parted slightly, as if he knew that he was supposed to reply but couldn’t figure out which words to use. The grip on Draco’s wrists slackened.

“I –”

It took less than a second to flip them around and then Draco’s forearm was at Harry’s throat, stifling his startled yelp. Draco had one glorious moment of triumph before Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously and then Draco was definitely not on top anymore. He couldn’t even say how it had happened – one second, he had the upper hand and the next Harry pushed him onto his back with massive strength. He didn’t even wait for Draco to surrender and got to his feet at once, glaring at him murderously.

“ _Yikes_.” Olivia was looking down at him with a frown and Draco really would’ve liked to know why. He could’ve done worse, right? Only her look didn’t really seem like pity but criticism.

“Low blow,” Lauren agreed, because of fucking course she would take Harry’s side.

Whatever his side _was_ at the moment, because Draco certainly didn’t know. Was this another Muggle thing he didn’t understand? Was there some rule against talking about love in front of other people? But the girls never tried to hide theirs. Was he supposed to let Harry win because of fuck-if-he-knew-what? Well, four could play at this game. Draco glared at Harry in return and got up with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Well, we don’t want to keep you,” Olivia said quickly.

“I’ll walk you home,” said Harry, sparing Draco not a single glance, who took that to mean that they would go home separately.

“No need, we can manage.” Olivia gave Harry a very pointed look.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Harry’s hero complex protested. “It’s over a mile to your flat.”

Lauren crossed both arms in front of her chest. “Harry, I’ve been practicing kickboxing for over ten years. And no offense, but weren’t even in the top twenty of my best students.”

“Besides, we’ll take the bus.”

“Go home. We’ll just kill the lights and put away Olivia’s yoga mats and whatnot.”

Meaning they didn’t fancy being in their company any longer. Well, the feeling was mutual. If they really wanted to be offended by whatever it was Draco had done – _fine_ by him.

“I’ll be off then.” Draco didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t smile at any of them. He just turned around and went with his head held high.

There was some furious whispering the second he crossed the threshold. He really wished he could hex somebody right now. Stupid Statute of Secrecy.

When Draco finally stepped out onto the street, the night didn’t seem as mild anymore. He wasn’t really sure which way they had come from, but of course that didn’t really matter. He just needed to find a dark alley. Now he wondered why he hadn’t just Apparated from inside the building. He doubted that the Muggles could watch him from the gym. Besides, they’d seemed quite busy when he’d left.

Draco just picked a direction and walked. _Why_ did he think he wanted a relationship? This one was just a series of problems and miscommunication. Every time Draco thought he was doing alright, another obstacle appeared. And he never seemed to take them in stride. He tripped up every single time.

That was what he got for falling in love with Harry fucking Potter. And for fucking _telling_ him. His parents had been right, at least this once. You should _never_ talk about your feelings. Nothing good came from it.

He realised he’d been walking past alley after alley, all of them suited for his needs, without even registering it. He didn’t feel like Apparating, but it wasn’t like he had much choice. There was no Floo, it was too far to walk, he’d sooner die than navigate the tube on his own, and he certainly wasn’t going to test the Knight Bus and let everybody on it know where he lived.

Well, it looked like Harry’s paranoia had rubbed off on him after all. He’d just have to choose an alley and get it over with. But under _no_ circumstances would he do three jumps! Draco slipped into a side alley.

“ _Malfoy!_ ”

He peeked back around the corner. Harry was running at him, looking like he’d like nothing more than to strangle him with his bare hands. Draco slipped back into his alley, crossed his arms and waited.

“What the _fuck_ was that about?” Harry yelled angrily before Draco even had the chance to quip, _‘Done bitching about me?’._

And really, if Muggles thought it bad form to confess love in public, what would they say about screaming at each other in the middle of the night?

“Really? _You_ want to discuss that here?”

Harry glared at him some more. His jaw was working angrily. Draco guessed that he _did_ want to have it out in private, but _didn’t_ want to go anywhere with Draco. In the end Harry shook his wand out of his sleeve and cast a Muffliato. Wow, he _really_ didn’t want to go home with Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, enlighten me. What did I do wrong this time?”

“What did you ...” Harry breathed out heavily. His wand was still in his hand, which was quite unsettling. “I can’t believe you just asked that.”

“Just tell me. Did I embarrass you in front of your friends?”

“You’re damn right you did!” Harry was yelling again. “I know that Slytherins like to win, but I didn’t expect _you_ to stoop so low.”

Draco felt his face slip. “What in the world did _I_ win? I didn’t expect you to say it too, you know? But you didn’t have to smack me around like that and then send me home alone.”

“ _Say it too?_ ” Harry seemed to have trouble un-gritting his teeth. “Yeah, _right_. _I_ don’t say something like that for fun. Or to win a fight, or whatever. That’s just unfair.”

 _Oh_. Okay.

“I said it because I felt it, you fucking idiot!” Draco shouted. “But I’ll gladly take it back now, if you insist.”

“You – what?” Harry’s eyes narrowed for a second and then widened considerable. Then he groaned, taking a deep, frustrated breath. His hand was in his hair immediately. “Fucking hell, this is a train wreck.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary then,” Draco said drily.

“Sometimes I really think we’d work better if we just didn’t talk,” Harry said, and then he was there, pushing him against the wall with his whole body.

“Are you _mad_? That’s most of the fun!”

Harry didn’t reply.

They spent a few moments fighting over who got to press whom against the wall, spinning each other around a good five times until finally Harry stopped trying to take control and kissed him instead, and thus ensued another battle, this time over who got to dominate the kiss (which involved a lot more biting than was strictly necessary).

In the end, Harry let him have the win. And Draco knew the answer to the question that still hung between them unspoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo ....


	42. They Said He Was Special [Wednesday July 6th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who commented on the current and former chapters (even if you won’t see this until you’ve caught up): Bismuth_209, Superfan1224, Fan, Amanda, taeli, Fandomwarriorqueen, WildvanillaRose, illindalenti, AlluraBelle, serilla, PrimeMinisterofEverything, burninglikeacid, ThatBoringOne, filidoune, Justforthedead, XOX_Eternity_XOX, night, hush_over_the_night and Slytherinz_Ghost! 🤗
> 
> Boy, you guys are on fire! I really hope I didn’t forget anyone!
> 
> To answer a question: I don’t reply to individual comments, because a) it takes too much time and b) it feels like cheating, bloating up the comment section like that. But I do read every single one of them and I will answer questions regarding the plot if they won’t get addressed later and it doesn’t spoil anything.😉 
> 
> Also, yes, I’m currently working on a prequel to my one-shot, though most of my time is still spent beta-reading – I’m currently on chapter 60 of this fic, so there’s still some ways to go until I can fully concentrate on the next thing.
> 
> The movie they watched last chapter was Mr. & Mrs. Smith. 😉 Alright, let's get on with it before the notes become longer than the actual chapter.
> 
> Title: Nomy - They Said I Was Special

Draco was back on top of the tower again, pointing his wand at the man kneeling in front of him.

“You can do it, Draco,” he said reassuringly, looking up at him with a mild smile. “You _do_ have it in you, don’t you think?”

It felt like the floor was opening up underneath him, but Draco nodded and some invisible force raised his wand for him. And he searched inside himself for his most desperate memory, the worst of them all, and rubbed at his chest with his free hand as he found it.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” he shouted, and immediately something dark and mishappen burst forth, landing on its legs – though Draco couldn’t say how many it had, because it kept shifting and twisting, and looking at it felt like using Legilimency on a dementor.

“Most peculiar,” said Dumbledore in a cheerful voice. “I think that means we need a little change of decoration.”

Dumbledore took off his cheap round glasses, broken as they were, and threw them off the tower without hesitation. Something moved behind Draco and he turned around to see the Slytherin banners framing the door turn colour suddenly. The green changed to crimson, but still the snake stayed silver.

He turned back around, but Dumbledore was gone. It was Harry who was kneeling at his feet, and he was wearing the emerald shirt, which was slashed to ribbons and stained with his own blood. And all around him the blood seeped into the joints between the stones, snaking its way outwards.

“Why did you do that?” Harry asked desperately, painting his own lips with blood as he spoke. His eyes were losing their vibrance, turning muddy and dull. “I thought …”

“I ...” Draco was petrified, his wand still pointed at Harry. The creature was gone, but the damage was done. “I didn’t know.”

And Harry closed his eyes and fell forward onto his hands, blood dripping to the floor in a steady, terrifying rhythm.

Draco dropped his wand and finally found he wasn’t rooted to the spot anymore. He threw himself to the ground beside Harry and dragged him into his arms. And Harry turned his head to face him, and opened his eyes, which were red.

“Well done, Draco,” The Thing hissed, cradling Draco’s face in a blood-slick hand. “You’ve proven your loyalty.”

The snakes behind him hissed. And Draco screamed.

“ _Draco!_ ”

Draco shot upwards, smashed his head against something solid and fell back into bed. Somebody dropped onto the bed beside him and Harry groaned.

Harry’s bedroom was sun-drenched and warm, which meant that Draco must’ve forgotten to close the blinds when he’d come home from work at seven in the morning. If Harry was back from practice, it must’ve been after three already.

He pressed a hand against his own forehead and turned to face Harry, who was doing the same.

“Sorry,” muttered Draco. He stretched out a hand to brush Harry’s hair away so he could have a proper look. “Bad dream.”

“No kidding,” Harry said. He placed his free, cold hand on Draco’s forehead carefully, which might have been the best thing Draco had ever felt. “Want to talk about it?”

Casually, Draco pulled the left sleeve of his pyjama top down to make sure his scar was covered properly. “Definitely not.”

“Want me to distract you?”

“Please.” Draco sat up and pushed away the blanket. He felt incredibly hot and definitely needed a shower.

Harry, who was still wearing his Quidditch clothes, leaned over the edge of the bed and fished for something on the floor. Then he slapped a copy of Witch Weekly against his chest, crossed his arms and watched Draco.

“Why do I feel like this _won’t_ cheer me up?” Draco asked, expecting nothing good.

“I said _‘distract’_ , not _‘cheer you up’_.”

As usual, Harry had made the cover. There was a picture of Harry, smiling his fake smile and then rapidly dropping it as he turned away from the camera, a second too early to go unnoticed. They had titled it _‘The heart-breaking truth about Harry Potter’s birthday’_.

Draco sighed and opened it reluctantly. Splashed across four whole pages were photographs of Harry, all of them making him look sad or lonely (or, most likely, pissed off, but people were bad at recognising that).

_No matter your faith, there’s one holiday every witch or wizard all across the British Isles celebrates. And that is July 31 st, birthday of Harry Potter (24), a day universally known as ‘Saviour’s Day’._

_Or so we thought. It now seems that there is one exception to the rule, and that is the Saviour himself! An anonymous source recently revealed that Harry Potter does not celebrate his own birthday, isolating himself from any and all social contacts instead._

_We asked Hannibal Hershey, Mind Healer and author of bestseller ‘Important Witches And Wizards Throughout History And What Was Wrong With Them’ about his professional opinion on the matter and received shocking insight into Harry Potter’s psyche._

_‘Most likely,’ says Hershey, ‘is the possibility that Potter does not think he is deserving of the attention and therefore tries to avoid it. Further proof of this is the fact that Potter rarely attends social functions like the annual Ministry gala and never takes photographs with fans.’_

_This, of course, comes as a shock to all of Harry’s devoted admirers. It seems that there’s dire need of action, and that is to show Harry Potter what he means to the Wizarding world and convince him of his worth._

_We at Witch Weekly are convinced that this is an occasion our readers will rise to. In light of this finding, we will make the start next week by launching the first part of our special thirty-issue series ‘The extraordinary life of Harry Potter’. Readers who want to support The Boy Who Lived now have the chance to write a short statement for our new column ‘Why We Love Harry’, which will be a permanent feature from now on._

_By Cordelia Elphaba_

Well, at least nobody knew what Harry _had_ done on his last birthday. Or who he had done it with.

Draco closed the magazine and looked over at Harry, who seemed to be reaching his boiling point, where Draco guessed he’d already been before Draco’s nightmare had interrupted him.

“So,” said Draco, thinking about the editor in chief whose head Harry had shrunk after he had revealed his then-girlfriend. “Will Elphaba’s family be able to hold an open casket funeral?”

But Harry just sighed and lay back down beside him. “How did they find out? I don’t just tell people that. They must’ve gotten it from one of my friends …”

The thought was eating him up inside. Draco could tell. He reached over and brushed some of his hair over the scar, the way Harry usually did it.

“Maybe some of them were talking about it and this _‘anonymous source’_ simply overheard. These things happen.”

Harry nodded slowly, but his brows were furrowed as he turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Draco suddenly wondered if Harry could be doubting _him_. Was that why he was avoiding his eyes? Draco didn’t dare to ask. He didn’t know what he’d do if the answer was _‘yes’_.

He chose to ask the safer question instead: “So, does that mean you’re not going to hex Elphaba?”

Harry shook his head. “Sam said she’d drop me like a hot potato if I ever did that again.”

“Don’t tell me you _actually_ listen to her. She’s even smaller than you, and that’s saying something.”

Harry cracked a small smile and Draco’s heart felt several pounds lighter at once.

“I don’t _want_ her to drop me. I don’t know if I could function without her. You know she has to sort through all my mail, right? I’d rather die than deal with that.”

“I’m sure you’d find others who would be willing to do that,” said Draco jokingly. “Insight into Harry Potter’s private life? I’d actually bet my house that there are people who would pay _you_ to get that job.”

Their eyes met suddenly. There was a moment of silence and then Harry shook his head vehemently.

“She _wouldn’t_. That’s just … no. She’d be making her own job much harder than it has to be.”

“I imagine the Prophet and all those magazines would pay a nice sum for a scoop on you …”

“No,” said Harry firmly. “No, she didn’t even know about Grace.”

“Why not? If you really trust her, _why_ didn’t you tell her about your girlfriend? Why don’t you tell her about _us_? Isn’t it kind of her job to keep your secrets?”

“I …”

Harry dragged a hand through his hair and grimaced when he accidently brushed the red swelling at his forehead where they had knocked heads. He looked like he wanted to turn away but knew that it would rouse suspicion.

Draco never got his answer. They both jumped as somebody called Harry’s name from downstairs, and he got up as quickly as he could.

“That’s Sam,” he muttered. “Probably going to lecture me about acquiring what she calls _‘normal people behaviour’_.”

He went downstairs to take his Floo call and left Draco to his doubts.

Draco took his time showering, but it didn’t help him sorting through his head, and he was still thinking about it when he went back into the bedroom to raid Harry’s closet. He was almost glad when a tap against the window pulled him out of his thoughts.

It was Greyson’s owl – not Odysseus but the one he usually sent Draco, a small pygmy that blended in quite well in Draco’s Muggle neighbourhood.

Draco opened the window and the owl landed on his arm. It didn’t object to being petted by him while he read the letter, and closed its eyes in contentment. Why couldn’t Greyson employ more of this kind of owl? Did he think he had to impress Harry with that big-arse monster he usually sent him?

Harry’s was slashing his wand at the pan when Draco entered the kitchen, and there was a massive stack of omelettes sitting on the kitchen counter. As Draco sat down, another one landed on top of them with a splash, and then Harry made the utensils scrub themselves before turning to face him.

“Guess Samantha didn’t cheer you up?”

Harry just grumbled, but then he seemed to notice the owl now perched on Draco’s shoulder and the unhappy look on his face turned into confusion.

“Hey, Kassandra,” he said softly, leaning over to stroke the owl’s head before turning his attention back onto Draco. “What does Matt want from you?”

“McCarthy had a little accident after practice. Seems she crashed her broom on her way home. Mungo’s signed her off for the rest of the month.”

He helped himself to an omelette and then offered a small piece of it to the owl, who took if from his fork very gently. Draco liked her. She had manners, at least.

Harry did little to hide the expression of glee over this news. “So what? Does he want you to overturn it?”

Frowning, Draco shook his head. He Scourgified his fork and then took a bite of his anger omelette. To his (admittedly minor) surprise, Harry’s state of mind didn’t seem diminish the quality of his food in the slightest.

“He wants to hear my opinion on the matter, actually. To make sure she doesn’t get back into the game too early.”

Draco really didn’t know what to make of that. This wasn’t how Greyson had previously reacted when his players got injured. On the other hand, maybe Greyson was finally coming to his senses? After five months, he could be starting to trust Draco’s expertise, right?

“Maybe what she _really_ needs would be _two_ months off?” Harry suggested with a grin, luring Kassandra onto his own arm so he could pet her more easily.

Draco scoffed. “I have a feeling that even Greyson’s new-found regard for his team’s health has its limits. Besides, what do you think he’d do if you got injured during your next match and none of his Seeker were available? If he’s finally trusting my judgement, I certainly don’t want to take advantage of it so soon.”

“You’re no fun,” grumbled Harry, feeding Kassandra more omelette from his bare hand. “Also, how come you get _her_ and I mostly get Odysseus? He sends me some of the other team owls from time to time, but Kassy is my favourite!”

Draco gave him a cocky grin that made Harry glare at him. “Maybe Greyson likes me better than you?”

Harry actually had the audacity to laugh. “Yeah, _right_. Or maybe he knows you wouldn’t be able to handle Odysseus.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Draco with a shrug. “That beast is _incredibly_ rude. Probably why he thinks you’d get along.”

Harry didn’t fling his omelette at him, but it looked like it took some restraint. Considering how weak his come-back was, Draco could see why Harry would’ve preferred action over words. “Given how spoilt he is, I’m surprised _you_ don’t get along.”

“Really witty, Potter.” Draco ate the rest of his omelette while scribbling an answer onto the back of Greyson’s letter and then slid off his bar stool. “Alright, I’m off to check out McCarthy. Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

“Feel free to take your time, do some tests.” Harry held out his owl arm so Draco could tie his reply to Kassandra’s leg, grinning at him. “Hey, you know that one spell that makes your spine itch horribly? Maybe you should do that one. To make sure she didn’t break anything. Would be a shame.”

“Sure, I’ll just perform a bunch of unnecessary spells on your new arch-nemesis, just for fun,” said Draco sarcastically while he opened the window for Kassandra. “And you’ll make sure to warn me if you decide to hex Elphaba after all. I’d like to be prepared so I can be at Mungo’s when she comes in.”

“Deal,” said Harry, still grinning. “Any suggestions?”

Draco looked over his shoulder as he left the kitchen. “I’m not on rotation anymore, so something trauma-related would be nice.”

“You got it.” Harry blew him a kiss and then added, “Be sure to give McCarthy my regards!”

Draco was almost gone when Harry shouted after him, “Take pictures!”

~o~

To Draco’s surprise, Felicity lived just two blocks from Harry, and he decided immediately not to mention that to him. Somehow, Draco doubted that he would find it funny.

A very old, very slow house elf let Draco in and showed him the way to her bedroom, giving him plenty of time to have a good look at everything. Felicity’s home was decidedly modern, with a whole lot of glass and a very light colour palette, which reminded him acutely of Harry’s house. Draco wasn’t going to tell him that either.

Felicity was pretty banged up and didn’t even sit up in bed when Draco came in. The whole left half of her face was black and blue and her upper body was wrapped in cooling bandages.

“Hello, Draco.” She gave him a look that hovered somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “So, how do I look?”

She nodded at the house elf, who handed Draco her patient chart and then bowed out of the room, closing the door on her way out.

“Well, I’ve got to say, you have seen better days,” said Draco, leafing through the topmost stack of papers while he came over and sat down on the chair next to her bed. “So, what the hell happened? Don’t tell me you just fell off your broom.”

Felicity managed to nod at the chart with just her eyes. “Incident report’s in there, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Draco, snapping it shut demonstratively and placing an empty parchment on top of it. “But I’d like to hear it from you. Let’s just pretend I’m the first one to examine you.”

“Fine,” said Felicity with a heavy sigh. “I was flying home after practice. Something heavy hit me from behind and I crashed into some bloody tree. Next thing I know, I’m at St. Mungo’s. The end.”

Draco scribbled a note and then asked, “How high up were you?”

Felicity shrugged minimally. “Not very. I was flying through a forest just out of Falmouth, no higher than the treetops.”

Well, that sounded impractical. “Is that your usual route?”

“No,” said Felicity with another sigh. “I usually Apparate home after practice. I only fly when I need time to think. Forests are really great for thinking, you know?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. So, you might have been a little distracted while you were flying home?”

Felicity scoffed at that and rolled her eyes. “A little? That’s an understatement.”

“Did something happen at practice? Did you get hit by a Bludger beforehand or something of the sort?”

There was disbelief in her voice as she said, “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the Prophet, Draco.”

“We don’t read that rubbish as a matter of principle,” said Draco incidentally, though he had to say that he was interested now.

Felicity’s voice was harsh and bitter. “Well, _somehow_ the Prophet got wind of this guy I’ve been seeing. They published some pictures this morning.”

Now it was Draco’s time to grimace. Seemed that not just Harry liked to keep his relationships private. Draco _definitely_ wasn’t going to tell him that he had that in common with Felicity as well.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She seemed a little taken aback, blinking up at him two times before finally saying, “Thanks.”

Draco placed her chart and his report on the bedside table and took out his wand. “I’m going to examine you now, alright?”

She nodded and watched as he stood up and cast the first spell. They were silent for a while, until Felicity said, “So?”

Draco raised an eyebrow without looking away from her aura readings. “So, what?”

“Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“Honestly, Felicity? I’m always glad when patients _don’t_ tell me all about their personal business. I’m really only interested in it if it played a part in the injury.”

“Might have,” mumbled Felicity. “Wouldn’t surprise me if that bitch found out about me and her husband and hit me with something on my way home.”

Oh boy. Maybe she didn’t have that much in common with Harry after all.

Draco sighed. “Have you talked to an Auror about this?”

Felicity laughed and then grimaced again. “Certainly not. Do you think I want to get caught up in all that? Believe me, it would get ugly. All the Prophet has right now are some blurry pictures of him, no name or anything. I’m just lucky if his wife doesn’t go to the Prophet about this. End of my career, that’s for sure.” 

Draco finished his spell and took a few steps back to restore her personal space. “Felicity, I have to report it if I suspect that a crime took place.”

Felicity waved him off immediately. “Forget it, Draco. I’m just babbling because I’m salty that he ditched me for her this morning. Might have been drinking a bit too, so that’s probably why I slipped up. Guess I hit a bird or something. Honestly, I’ll just take the month off and hope that nobody finds out about that. Lay low for a bit.”

Draco scrutinised her for a few seconds, but she held eye contact without even blinking. Draco sighed. “If you are sure about that.”

She sounded pretty certain when she said, “One hundred percent. Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t include the drinking part in your report.”

Draco nodded and took up his parchment again to add some more notes. “Alright. The rest of the month should be enough for you to recover, but let’s schedule an examination for the twentieth, shall we?”

“Thanks, Draco.” Now Felicity was grinning. “So, who is ‘we’?”

“Excuse me?” said Draco, mostly concentrating on finishing his report.

“You said _‘We don’t read the Prophet’_. So, who is she?”

His quill made a horrible scratching noise on the parchment, but at least Draco managed not to look up.

“That bad, is it?” She sounded awfully excited about this. “Don’t tell me it’s a secret.”

“Nothing to tell,” said Draco lightly, signing his name under her sick note and then snapping her chart shut again. “I’ll leave some arnica and show your elf how to apply those bandages. Owl me if you feel worse.”

“ _Sure_ ,” she said in response to the first part of his sentence, which she obviously did not believe one bit. “Let’s just hope yours doesn’t end like mine.”

Well, considering neither Harry nor Draco were adulterers, he didn’t see how it could.


	43. Notorious H.J.P. [Sunday, July 31st 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful people who commented: serilla, Slytherinz_Ghost, XOX_Eternity_XOX, PrimeMinisterofEverything, Fan, ThatBoringOne, WildvanillaRose, illindalenti, hush_over_the_night and Fandomwarriorqueen! 😘
> 
> Sooo, time to not celebrate Harry’s b-day!

“How do you feel?”

Harry looked up from the piece of toast he’d been staring at for two solid minutes. “They’re doing it on purpose.”

Draco nodded, eyes back on the frozen mouse he was thawing with his wand. He had a feeling he should find it disgusting, but in the end, this was just another cadaver.

“Everything points to that, yes.”

“Why do they do that to me?”

“Not to burst your bubble of self-pity, but I’m pretty sure they think they’re doing it _for_ you.”

Harry sighed deeply, which marked the thirty-first time that morning. “I hate them so much.”

“I know, darling.” Draco smiled at him sweetly. “Unfortunately, _they_ don’t hate _you_.”

“Don’t you _‘darling’_ me.” Harry finally picked up his toast and used it to point at Draco. He then proceeded to rip it into tiny pieces unenthusiastically. “Somebody should tell them what a pain I am to be around … Hey, that could be your present to me.”

“I tried to tell people for six years, remember? Didn’t work.”

“No no, don’t sell yourself short.” Harry dropped the last piece of toast back onto his plate, having eaten none of them. “You were pretty successful at times.”

“But it didn’t stick! And remember how much more they loved you afterwards?” Draco floated the warmed mouse over to the counter top where Emerald lounged.

Harry grimaced and pushed his plate away. “Alright, new idea: You could write me a sick note, right?”

“You might remember that your reserve is out of it for another week at least?” Draco gave him a pitiful smile. “Also, I _do_ want to keep my job. Besides, you already made me promise not to get you a present.”

“But you refused to make the Unbreakable Vow! And who knows, maybe they’ll just reschedule if we don’t have a Seeker.”

They both watched as Emerald eyed her hovering breakfast for a few seconds and then struck suddenly and with lightning speed.

“Or the Falcons will have to forfeit,” said Draco casually. “Either way, if you want me to write you a note, you’ll have to fling yourself down the stairs first.”

Sigh number thirty-two. “I hate you.”

“You do that. Tell you what, just catch the Snitch as soon as possible and we can do what you want with the rest of the day. Movies? Food? Lie in bed and sulk all day?”

Harry threw a piece of toast. Presumably at Draco, but it never reached him. Then he sighed and got up. “Fine. But if they start singing, I’m going to kill someone.”

~o~

Draco could tell it was going to be bad as soon as he stepped out onto the pitch. There were banners. There were balloons. People were chanting for Harry to come out. Most of them were dressed in Falcons merch. Some were wearing wigs. They probably also had lightning bolt scars painted on their foreheads, but it was too far to see.

Then there was Bagman, laying it on even thicker than usual. “Welcome everybody, on this beautiful Saviour’s Day! As you know there typically are no matches on a holiday, but the Ministry has agreed to make an exception in honour of Britain’s greatest hero. Here today are the Chudley Cannons, playing the Falmouth Falcons!”

There were cheers. There were fanfares. Some idiots set off fireworks, even though none of the players were even out yet.

“Ladies and gentlewizards, give it up for the Falmouth Falcons! Here are Haynes, Robinson, Mason, Armstrong, Montgomery, Mills and the man of the hour, Haaaaarry Pooootter!”

For a moment, Draco thought a sudden thunderstorm had hit them. Then he realised that what he thought were flashes of lightning and booms of thunder were really Saviour’s Day fireworks. He knew for a fact that they were called that, because he had written more than one note reading _‘patient blasted off insert-body-part-here by coming in contact with Saviour’s Day firework’_ over the years.

Draco couldn’t even see Harry’s reaction through all the flashes and smoke, but he could very well imagine what it looked like. Then they started singing and Draco really hoped that nobody else could see Harry either.

The banners appeared at the same time. Apparently, every single person in the audience had one, and they formed a bigger picture when held up next to each other. One stand formed a gigantic lightning bolt that flashed every now and then. Another was a tiny Harry on his broom, chasing after the Golden Snitch. A third one was just his face, but enormous. Gigantic. Obscenely huge.

There were many more, but Draco didn’t have time to check them out, because then the noise stopped suddenly and he caught the tail end of Bagman’s announcement of the Cannons.

“ – aaaand Harrington!”

Draco couldn’t tell if people even cheered for the Cannons, because right then there was a massive crack and the sky broke open. Literally. People shrieked and shielded themselves with their banners. It was like someone was pouring out a bathtub right over the stadium. Immediately Draco was soaked to the bone.

“Aah,” said Bagman in a voice that suggested this was only a slight nuisance. “Yeah well, that can happen when you set off too many of these fireworks at the same time. Well, it certainly helps with visibility.”

That really was the only upside to it all – the downpour had dispersed all the smoke that had gathered and Draco could finally see Harry again. He was hovering in starting position, a strained smile plastered to his face and his expression made of stone. If Draco knew anything about Harry, the real storm was raging inside him.

The other players didn’t seem happy either. The Falcons kept glancing up at Harry in concern. The Cannons were obviously trying very hard not to glare at him.

Draco didn’t hear the whistle, but he did see the Quaffle being thrown up and then the match was on. Harry ascended so fast that the cameras had trouble keeping up with him. Draco didn’t see why the screens had to show Harry in the first place. It was very unlikely that the Snitch would be seen this early into the game – again.

It was incredibly loud. People were singing and screaming and using their stupid fanfares. They weren’t setting off fireworks anymore, but the damage was already done. The storm obviously wasn’t about to die down anytime soon.

Draco didn’t really understand why nobody thought to cast a repelling charm over the Quidditch arena before a match. Granted, there wasn’t a limit to how high the players could fly, but given that the goal hoops were fixed at a reasonable height, it would be entirely possible to keep most of the players dry. The Seekers would have to manage, but it would still be far more comfortable. Draco was all in favour of repelling charms. Fuck those bloody fanatics who thought it would dampen the mood if the players were a little safer.

Seeker Desmond Harrington was the first casualty of the Saviour’s Day match when his soaked gloves slipped on his broomstick. His face smashed against his broom, which resulted in a broken nose and a five-minute break to get him back into flying shape.

The remaining players used the opportunity to cast repelling charms at themselves to keep away the worst of the rain. Harry, who was wearing his Quidditch ring, couldn’t do that, of course. Draco thought he should ask one of his teammates to help him out, but Harry had a very strong opinion on the matter. He didn’t want to have to tell them why he had to wear the ring and Draco couldn’t make him.

Draco thought about casting a mild repelling charm around himself, but ultimately decided against it. Those only really held when it wasn’t raining too much and the wind stayed reasonable, which it was and didn’t. Draco couldn’t cast a stronger charm, either. He needed to reserve enough of his magic for emergencies.

The break would have been the perfect opportunity for Harry to look for the Snitch in peace, but that idea was squashed almost immediately.

Bagman said, “Oh my, it seems that we are in for a treat now! Ladies and gentleman, may I present to you the cheerleaders of Britain’s biggest Harry Potter fan club!”

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Harrington, who was lying on the Cannons’ Healer’s bench. “How the hell is that fair?”

A group of around twenty scantily dressed women ran onto the field, each of them surrounded by a water-repelling bubble. They were jumping up and down and yelling something Draco couldn’t understand. Then music picked up, though Draco couldn’t recognise the song through all the noise either. The women started some kind of dance routine that involved a lot of pompon-waving.

The cameras were on Harry again, who obviously didn’t have the slightest idea how to react to that. He did his best to keep a friendly face, but it looked so tense that Draco wouldn’t be surprised to see it actually crack any second now. Harry’s eyes also kept slipping away to scan the sky instead, like he was afraid to miss the Snitch. He must’ve been desperate to end the game at that point.

It was a scrap of comfort that the performance only lasted about two painful minutes. “Give it up for these incredible witches!” said Bagman. “What an impressive performance. Especially if you consider that they only had three weeks to rehearse. That’s what I call dedication, right, Harry?”

Harry actually flinched at being addressed directly. He grimaced briefly and then managed to rein his face in again. He waved down at the witches and then quickly turned around towards the other end of the pitch. He didn’t react when Bagman added, “All these ladies are single, by the way.”

“Alright,” groaned Harrington. “Let me get back up there before they announce Potter’s strippers.”

And then, thank Merlin, the match resumed, though it didn’t get any better. The storm picked up even more. The spectators kept up their incredible noise level. Phaedra Armstrong collided with a rival Chaser when a witch in the stands lifted up her shirt and flashed them both. A Bludger hit Harry in the shoulder from behind, nearly throwing him off. For a moment it seemed like Harry would just grit his teeth and ignore the injury, but then his hand slipped on his broom at the next turn and he closed his eyes for a good two seconds before coming down after all.

He stumbled from his broom and Draco caught him with an arm around his waist, careful to avoid the injured shoulder. He propped him up and was just leading him over to the bench when a plush falcon fell from the sky and landed right next to them, its wings fluttering feebly.

“What the hell was that?” asked Harry, eyes closed again. He was shivering violently, though Draco couldn’t tell whether it was because of the injury or the cold.

“They’re throwing their merch at one of the Cannons’ Beaters.”

Draco made him sit on the bench and cast a repelling charm as well as a warming charm before doing anything else. Harry slumped forward and his frown eased a little.

“‘Course they are,” said Harry bitterly. “Aren’t you going to tell me it’s not as bad as I expected it to be?”

Draco huffed and pointed his wand at Harry’s shoulder to reset it. “Even I could not make that sound believable. This is pure torture.”

“Right? Those stupid fireworks, fucking hell. And now I’ve got to spend my birthday cold and wet and miserable. And it’s so bloody loud up there like you wouldn’t believe. I couldn’t even hear that fucking Bludger until it hit me.”

“No sign of the Snitch yet?”

Harry laughed, sounding actually a little insane. “None. But you know what I _do_ keep spotting? Their stupid banners with the Snitch on it. That’s a real help. You know, in case I forget what it looks like.”

Thunder boomed and Harry jumped to his feet. He mounted his broom and Draco only just heard him say, “If they make me sign autographs, I’ll honest to God kill someone!” before he kicked off.

~o~

The match lasted over five hours and ended on a score of 530 – 450 with the Falcons in the lead. Draco was wet and cold and miserable, and that was with the luxury of being on the ground. When _Harry_ finally touched down, his legs wouldn’t even carry him anymore and he landed with both knees in the mud.

Draco went over there as fast as he could, his own legs stiff and numb. He conjured a thick blanket, wrapped it around Harry’s shoulders and then hoisted him up with both hands under his arms. The ground clung to Harry’s legs and Draco needed three attempts before he finally managed to pull him out of the mud.

Harry seemed empty, like all fight had left his body. He just accepted Draco’s arm around his waist and followed him blindly to the changing rooms. Draco did his best to check out the other players as they landed, but they seemed to be mostly alright. They were all tired-looking and shivering as well, but at least _they_ could still find their own way into the warmth.

Harry dropped down on the nearest bench and pulled his legs up so he could hug them to his chest. Then he placed his head on top and closed his eyes again. Draco started with blow-drying his drenched clothes with his wand, which didn’t elicit any response except that the shivering subsided somewhat.

He was just rummaging through the tiny bag that was his portable apothecary when the door opened again and Greyson came in with his daughter following close behind.

“Well done, everyone!” he said enthusiastically, clapping Harry (who was nearest to the door) on the back.

Draco held Harry in place with a hand on his shoulder before he could fall flat on his face from the impact. He gave Greyson a very pointed look. “I _just_ reset that shoulder, so if you wouldn’t mind staying away from it, that would be much appreciated.”

Greyson gave him a look that told him just how much he would like to be rid of him, while Harry barely reacted and began pulling off his gloves, which was a real feat, because his fingers were trembling so much. Draco took pity and helped him out, taking care to slide off his ring at the same time, so Harry’s magic could finally start to combat all the harmful outside influences. Harry leaned back against the wall and took the vial of Pepper-Up Draco was offering.

“All right,” said Greyson, clapping his hands while his daughter’s eyes kept going back and forth between her father and Harry. “Hit the showers and then I want to see you all outside for press and fans.”

Harry pressed the empty vial back into Draco’s hand and lightly banged his head against the wall. “What for? That was abysmal.”

Greyson crossed his arms and frowned at him. “You do realise we won?”

“Undeservedly.”

The other players didn’t seem to share that opinion. Robinson crossed her arms, a sour look on her face. “Well, I don’t know about the rest, but _I_ definitely gave everything I had, so maybe talk for yourself?”

“Yeah well, you couldn’t really see what was happening on my end, could you?” The Pepper-Up was now making Harry steam from his ears, which definitely enhanced the angry look on his face. “ _They_ weren’t giving everything. Not a single Bludger was aimed at me after they almost lynched Davies for hitting me that one time. They just pretended they couldn’t see me!”

Montgomery laughed shortly. “So what, your complaint is that nobody tried to knock you off your broom?”

“Don’t tell me you had fun out there!”

“Well, no, it was fucking _awful_ , obviously. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t deserve to win!”

“Then let me tell you about that moment _two fucking hours ago_ when the Snitch was right in front of Harrington’s bloody face and he just let it go. Didn’t want to get hit in the face with one of those stupid wigs, I bet. So we got to freeze to death for two more hours!”

Nobody had a reply to that. Greyson actually sighed heavily and shook his head like a teacher correcting a student. “Harry, come on. You probably didn’t see it right. Harrington wouldn’t just let the Snitch go. Just go out there and you’ll see absolutely nobody believes that you didn’t win fair and square.”

“I know what I saw,” said Harry hotly. His ears weren’t steaming anymore, but his eyes looked like they might shoot lightning at anyone who came into his way. “And you’re mad if you think –”

“Actually, I’ll have to take Potter to St. Mungo’s,” said Draco casually before Harry could work himself into a rage.

“He looks fine to me, Malfoy!” Greyson was glaring at him. What else was new? “It will only take half an hour – maybe an hour, tops.”

“Absolutely not. You don’t want to risk him being sidelined, do you? I need to set his shoulder properly, or else there could be lasting damage. Besides, he’ll definitely catch a cold if he goes out there again.”

“I’ll –!”

Draco didn’t even wait for Greyson to pick up speed, but cut right across him. “I’m sure you have very _reasonable_ arguments, but unfortunately I don’t have time to listen to them all. We’ll be off then. Oh, before I forget – the rest of you should take some Pepper-Up too and then stay warm for the rest of the day. Healer’s orders.”

Draco summoned six more vials from his bag, handed them to Robinson to distribute and then grabbed Harry’s bag. Harry wrapped his blanket tighter around his body and stood up. His legs were still shaking slightly.

“See you at practice,” said Harry, leaving immediately.

Some of the team wished him a nice birthday, but nobody seemed really sad to see him go, if you didn’t count Greyson’s daughter. She stared after him in disbelief, looking on the verge of running after him. She probably wasn’t used to seeing people defy her father that openly.

Draco just gave Greyson a short nod and followed. Harry was waiting for him at the end of the hall where the back entrance was. He didn’t exactly look strong enough to hold on to Draco for a three-jump Apparition, so Draco took hold of his upper arm and twisted.

~o~

“That was the worst birthday _ever_. And I’m counting the one where the fucking Minister of Magic burned a hole into my t-shirt.” Harry was lying on his bed, naked from the waist up, and watched as Draco checked his shoulder.

“Consider me intrigued,” said Draco, rummaging through his bag until he found the roll of Magi-Tape. “Alright, let me try something new.”

Harry eyed it suspiciously. “What the hell is that?”

“This is all the rage in the U.S. right now. I imported it.”

“And you’re using it to tape me to the bed so I can’t leave?”

Draco grinned. He ripped a piece of tape off the roll and tugged on both ends to see how much it would yield. “Tempting. But sadly, no. The tape redirects the flow of your magic to where I want it to go. I’ll use it to stabilise your shoulder and speed up the healing process.”

Harry dropped his head back into his pillow. “Perfect, let’s do it!”

Unfortunately, applying the tape wasn’t all that easy. Draco had to re-assess the injury very precisely and then pinpoint the usual flow of magic through Harry’s body to see where he could divert it safely. It took nearly thirty minutes until Harry’s chest and back were taped to Draco’s satisfaction.

“Done,” he said silently, putting away the tape. Harry was breathing evenly and didn’t reply. He was lying on his stomach, facing away from Draco, and when Draco leaned over him to check, he saw that his eyes were closed.

Draco didn’t see any reason not to get some rest, so he took off his still damp scrubs and lay down beside Harry. Then he wrapped the blanket around themselves as neatly as he could while lying on it, which really only worked because it was so enormous. As soon as he was warm and comfortable, the fatigue got to him, and Draco fell asleep almost at once.

~o~

It was dark when Draco woke up almost five hours later. He felt even more tired than before, and also very hot. He turned over to Harry’s side and found it empty. The only reward was the blinding headache that picked up at once. Draco groaned and closed his eyes again. They were burning as well.

“Are you up?” Harry’s voice came from downstairs.

Draco tried to answer and found that his voice was gone, but the effort of it made his throat itch horribly and when he coughed, it sounded quite chesty. Just great.

“Stay in bed!” Harry demanded. “I’ll be back up in a minute. Just need to get rid of Odysseus first.”

Draco groaned some more and buried his head underneath the pillow. He only came out again when he felt the bed dip. Harry looked down at him in concern and placed a cold hand on Draco’s forehead. It was such a bliss that Draco forgot to chastise him for running around without a shirt. Not that he thought he could have voiced it.

“You look like shit,” said Harry tactfully. “Guess you should’ve tasted some of your own medicine.”

Draco swatted at him and then let his hand fall back against the pillow. Harry switched out the hand on Draco’s forehead and Draco closed his eyes again.

“Do you have some here?” Draco nodded. “In your bag?” Draco nodded again and Harry leaned away to fetch it while his hand stayed on Draco’s forehead.

“ _Accio_ Pepper-Up.”

There was a clink, then a plop, and then Harry pressed something against his lips. Draco opened his mouth and swallowed the potion. It felt like burning through three days of fever in under a minute. The temperature inside Draco rose suddenly and then surged out through his ears. Draco waited another minute and then accepted Harry’s help sitting up. The headache was gone, but he still felt light-headed and weak, which would take another day at the very least to fully subside.

Draco cleared his throat, which definitely felt better, and then jabbed Harry in the chest (lightly). “You should really put some clothes on.”

“Don’t you like what you see?” Harry grinned and turned this way and that so that Draco got a full view from all sides.

“Not particularly,” said Draco, who wasn’t that into Healing Tape and bruises that spanned half the torso. “What did Greyson want now?”

Harry shrugged. “Probably checking on me to see if I’m being a _good boy_ and staying home, not going to any parties.” He nudged Draco and then proceeded to drag the blanket out from under him with his good side. Then he plopped down beside him and covered both of them with it. “ _Kidding_. He just wrote to see what they said at Mungo’s and to tell me we’re taking two days off to recharge.”

“Finally, some sense.”

Draco turned onto his side so they were face to face. Harry brushed some hair out of Draco’s face and leaned over to kiss him softly, cold fingers dancing along his shoulder and down his bare left arm.

Draco didn’t know how he could do it – Harry always pretended like it was completely _normal_ – but Draco had long since stopped trying to keep him from touching his arm like there wasn’t that fucking horrible scar branded into his skin. Harry only got angry at him if he did it, and Draco wanted to _believe_ too much. Believe that Draco had worth despite that. Believe that Harry really had forgiven him. Believe that he could _love_ him after all that had happened.

Draco kissed back with all he had, with all the want inside him, and only pushed him back when Harry started to grin against his lips.

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me to stop before I catch your cold?”

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled him in again. “Why would I? I’m not contagious.”

They stayed in bed for another twenty minutes before Draco suddenly realised, “It’s your birthday!”

Sigh number one-million-and-something (Draco was sure that Harry had added to it during the match and when Draco had been asleep). “Don’t remind me.”

“I feel bad. You didn’t get to do anything fun.”

“I didn’t _want_ to do anything fun, remember? I just wanted to ignore it. Besides, it _was_ pretty funny watching you blow off Matt. Not having to go out there again was definitely the best present you could’ve given me.”

“Still. It’s only nine. What do you want to do?”

Harry sighed and turned to face the ceiling. “I _could_ eat, I guess.”

Draco shoved his shoulder (not the injured one – he was no monster!). “Always takes me back to our old St. Mungo’s days when you get so unenthused about food.”

“Sorry. Just a shitty day, is all. Fucking Witch Weekly.” Harry sighed again and then seemed to gather his strength to get up. “Okay, let’s get something to eat. What do you want?”

“It’s _your_ birthday!”

Harry crossed his arms. “But _you_ are sick.”

“And you are _injured_ and probably also sick by tomorrow, if you don’t put on some clothes soon.”

Harry ignored what Draco had just said. “Just choose. I feel bad because you had to sit in the rain for five hours because of me.”

“That wasn’t because of _you_ but your _fan club_. Besides, at least I _could_ sit. You had to be _inside_ the storm for five hours. Without magic.”

“ _You_ ... are insufferable.”

Draco smiled sweetly and said, “Does that mean you’ll pick?”

He didn’t wait to hear the reply and went into the closet, making a beeline for the designer clothes. Draco suspected that there was a dusting charm at work, because the clothes must’ve been gathering dust steadily with how seldom Harry wore them.

“ _Fine_ , let’s just get something from Linh’s.” Harry leaned against the doorframe and watched Draco browse through his stuff. “You _are_ aware that those are mine, right?”

“Painfully,” said Draco, not even looking up from the dark pair of jeans he’d picked out. He held them up for Harry to see while going over to the shirts. “Also, don’t tell me _you_ would ever wear these.”

“ _Why_ would I wear them? They are shredded! I like my knees covered, thank you very much.”

“They are not _shredded_ , they are _ripped_. Purposefully. It’s fashion.”

“I hate fashion. Fashion can bite me. _Especially_ the Witch Weekly Wardrobe Check. Hate that one. Samantha keeps sending me the cut-outs. They keep making ‘suggestions’ for me. That’s polite for ‘dragging my outfit choices through the mud’.”

Draco grinned. He certainly couldn’t blame them. “Well, you still need to get dressed. Maybe put on real trousers, too. Your Quidditch trackies will probably start to smell soon. Come to think of it, you should just take a shower. Your hair looks like several birds nested there for three consecutive summers.”

“Look who’s talking.” Harry came over and dragged both hands through Draco’s hair. He grinned. “I didn’t know _your_ hair gets wavy.”

Draco scowled, threw the jeans over his arm and then tried to smooth his hair. He hated when his hair did that. That was why he always dried it off with his wand. “I’m _sick_ , which means you have to be nice to me.”

“Fine.” Harry grinned even more. “You can take a shower too.”

Draco shrugged. He felt pretty chilly after burning through his fever, so why shouldn’t he let himself be boiled for a few minutes?

~o~

“Boys!” Jian actually threw her hands up in agitation. “Where have you been?”

“It’s Harry’s fault!”

“Hey!” Harry gave him a scandalised look and actually stepped away from him.

“It is! You cook too much.”

Harry lifted his chin several inches. “Fine, I won’t anymore.”

Jian didn’t even ask if they were going to stay or take their food home. She just grabbed a couple of menus and led them over to a vacant table while chatting with Harry. “Are you a good cook?”

“Alright, I guess.”

Draco rolled his eyes and gave Harry a shove from behind (on his good side, of course – still not a monster!). “He’s really good.”

“Great!” Jian sounded way too excited. “We actually need another cook. How about it?”

“Er,” said Harry, laughing nervously. “I’ve actually never done Chinese. I also already _have_ a job.”

“Ah, yes, yes!” said Jian, still very cheerful. “The football, right? I’m afraid I don’t really know much about it. What’s it like being a footballer?”

“Er –” Harry gave him a panicked look.

“He’s not allowed to talk about work today,” said Draco. He plucked the menus from her hand and added on a whim, “It’s actually my birthday.”

Confusion was written all over Harry’s face, but he wasn’t stupid enough to object. Jian actually clapped her hands. “How wonderful! Congratulations! What can I get you?”

They ordered their usual and then watched her out of sight. Harry turned to face Draco as soon as she vanished into the kitchen.

“Another birthday?” he asked, trying for casual. “Isn’t one enough for you?”

Draco shrugged. “Feels wrong to just ignore this day. And if _you_ don’t want it, _someone_ should claim it, right?”

Harry snorted and shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to be with someone who’s _normal_.”

“Share your wisdom with me if you ever find out,” said Draco.

Harry tried to kick him under the table, but Draco caught his foot between his own legs. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled, making Harry slide down the bench under much protest.

He let go when Jian reappeared suddenly, but it was too late. She was laughing silently as she unloaded two colourful cocktails in front of them, one of which had a sparkler in it.

“On the house!” said Jian cheerfully, looking from Draco (who tried to look dignified) to Harry (who was just resurfacing and straightening his clothes). “How old are you now?”

“Thank you! I’m twenty-five,” said Draco, ignoring the accusing look Harry gave him.

“Could’ve fooled me,” muttered Harry under his breath. “Behaving like a bloody eight-year-old.”

“That was all in defence!” said Draco.

Jian laughed and smiled at them fondly. “To be young again. And when’s _your_ birthday, Harry?”

Harry grimaced and glared at Draco in not so silent accusation for bringing the topic up. “I don’t really celebrate my birthday …”

Draco plucked the sparkler out of his drink and used it to point at Harry. “Doesn’t stop you from _ageing_ , though. He’s also twenty-five.”

“ _Hey_ , what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’re certainly not seventeen anymore,” said Draco bluntly while Jian giggled and then left them to their squabble. He leaned over to tug at the one curl that was always on scar duty. “Is that a grey hair?”

Harry swatted his hand away, trying intently not to grin. “Never have I ever been insulted like that. And _today_ of all days!” There was a pause as Harry leaned back slowly, folding his arms and stretching his legs so they were getting tangled with Draco’s. “What else?”

Draco grinned and launched into his list (which he was making up as he went along, but Harry didn’t need to know that) while Harry sipped his cocktail and grinned way too much as he talked back.


	44. Hetero Sapiens [Saturday, August 27th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who commented: filidoune, Superfan1224, Slytherinz_Ghost, Fan, ThatBoringOne, hitomu, WildvanillaRose, serilla, illindalenti, AlluraBelle, XOX_Eternity_XOX, hush_over_the_night and Aimee Van Der Merwe!  
> I just got my first negative review today (not on this site though), and even though I do know there are some flaws in this fic, it felt especially nice to read all your kind words after that. 😊
> 
> Also, nice to hear you like the banter 😊 And they say Germans lack humour!
> 
> ⚠️ ⚠️ **Warning: This chapter mentions self-harm, though only in theory (none of these characters did it). If you don’t want to deal with that, stop reading when Lauren tells Draco he can talk to her about anything. There will be a summary of that part in the end notes, so avoid that too if you really don’t want to read anything about it at all.** ⚠️ ⚠️

It was already half past eleven when Draco could finally end his shift on Ella’s birthday. He stopped by his house to change (desperately wishing he could just wear something short-sleeved for once – it was just _so_ hot) and then Apparated as close to Ella and Callum’s flat as he could.

Lauren opened the door and promptly dragged him in by the arm.

“Draco! Finally! You’re very much needed. Harry found himself a _groupie_ and she really can’t take a hint. And he’s way too polite to just tell her he’s not interested. Don’t know why he doesn’t tell her he’s got a boyfriend. Maybe he just doesn’t realise she wants to get into his pants – he’s just so ridiculously clueless. Come on.”

She led him through the flat. Harry stood next to the window, his back to the wall. Next to him stood a very pretty girl with flaming red hair. Draco found himself wondering if that was Harry’s type or if it had been Ginny’s personality that had won him over.

One thing was crystal-clear, at least: Harry was definitely _her_ type. She stood way too close to him, seriously invading his personal space. Harry looked miserable and Draco suspected that he was just barely keeping it together because this was a Muggle party and he had no rational reason to be that defensive. These people had no idea what Harry had to endure every day.

“I just really _love_ football! Most girls don’t even know what _offside_ is!” She giggled obnoxiously and put a hand on Harry’s naked arm, making him flinch. “Want me to explain it?”

“No,” said Harry listlessly, trying to lean away from her without being too obvious. Did _Harry_ even know what ‘offside’ was? “I believe you.”

Harry caught sight of Draco and perked up. Seldom had Draco seen him that relieved. Ginger noticed the change as well. She turned around to see what Harry had spotted. That was when Draco recognised her.

“Harry! Look who I found!” Lauren practically shouted. “It’s your –”

“Chaperone,” Draco cut in, making no move to touch Harry, whose confusion was clear on his face. “Hello, Potter. Mathews.”

She clearly recognised him too. Her eyebrows shot up and she wrung her hands nervously. Lauren seemed confused. Harry looked crestfallen as the realisation sunk in.

“You two know each other?” he asked, clearing his throat at the end of it.

“From the hospital,” Draco said pointedly.

“What a coincidence.” Harry’s voice sounded rather numb. He turned his face in the witch’s direction without really looking at her. “Nice talking to you. There’s something I need to discuss with Malfoy. If you’d excuse me.”

And then he grabbed Draco by the arm with way too much force and hauled him out of the flat and into the hallway. Draco didn’t take this personally. He knew that Harry was boiling inside.

“She’s a _witch!_ ” Harry yelled as the door closed behind them. “She pretended to be a Muggle for two whole hours! What the hell? I was seriously thinking about _kissing_ you just to finally get rid of her! We’re so lucky you recognised her!”

Draco put a hand on his shoulder in support. “Why did you put up with her for _two hours?_ You could’ve told her you’re not interested.”

“And how was I to know she was coming on to me? I thought she didn’t know who I was. I don’t just assume everybody’s into me, you know?”

“Are you _blind?_ What more would she have to do to get through to you? Take off all her clothes?”

“Ha ha,” Harry said tonelessly.

The door burst open suddenly and Draco let go of Harry, taking a hasty step back. They both turned to look at Lauren, who stood there with her arms crossed.

“Thank God.” She sighed with relief. “I thought you broke up and didn’t tell us. Why did you act so weird in there?”

“Er –” Harry said, looking at Draco helplessly and then back at Lauren. “You didn’t _tell_ her, right?”

“Don’t worry,” Lauren reassured him. “ _I_ can take a hint. I just told her you’re sadly not interested. Now, why did _I_ have to tell her that?”

“You see … the thing is …” Harry shot Draco another pleading look, but he just shrugged. He didn’t know Muggle dating mentality. “I only dated women until now. And with my career …”

“He isn’t exactly out yet,” Draco cut in, realising where Harry was going with it. The heat and stress were starting to get to his head, and he pushed up his right sleeve in an attempt at getting some air. Lauren’s features softened considerably.

“Oh wow, that’s _awful._ ” She patted Harry’s arm lightly, because that was how she showed affection. She definitely wasn’t as touchy-feely as Olivia – at least not with people other than her girlfriend. “I know professional sports are not exactly tolerant. I’m so sorry … I’ll tell the others to hush it up.”

Harry gave her a relieved smile and a spontaneous hug, which she returned fiercely. “Thanks! You’re the best.” Then he kissed her cheek and went back inside.

Lauren shut the door behind him and turned back to Draco, who suddenly felt slightly trapped. She gave him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. What he saw there looked more like uncertainty, or maybe concern.

“Liv and I will keep you company for the rest of the evening.”

“Thank you,” said Draco gratefully.

Everything was better than ending up in another movie debate with Ella. He wasn’t keen on watching her become exasperated with his lack of common knowledge _again_.

“Anytime,” she said, smiling way too nicely for her standards. It was unsettling. “You know we love you, right?”

“Um,” said Draco, caught completely off guard. Other than his mother, nobody had ever told him that before, especially not this casually.

“We really do, and not just because you’re with Harry. Though that’s also a pretty big part of it, of course. You go well together. It’s a relief to see him happy again, opening up a bit. We never knew, you know? About his childhood. He never talked about it before. Hermione mentioned something about his parents once, and of course we know he has nightmares, even though he tries to hide them; but that was about it.”

Draco frowned. He wasn’t really surprised that she knew about the nightmares. Harry had them frequently – they both did – and Draco didn’t know how Harry could hope to control them when he was spending the night. He was just confused why Lauren was telling him all of this.

“Is this the part where you threaten me? Isn’t it a _little_ late for that, six months in?”

Lauren punched his arm affectionally. “That’s not where I was going. I’m just saying … sometimes it’s good to open up, right? So your friends can understand you better and be there for you.”

Draco searched her face for a clue, some hint of where this was going. “I’m not sure he’ll do that again anytime soon. I think he regretted saying anything as soon as he opened his mouth. He doesn’t really _want_ to talk about his childhood.”

Lauren sighed deeply and shot a wistful look at the apartment door. She muttered, “Should’ve gotten Liv to do it,” and then turned back to him. She took his left hand and squeezed it. “I’m not talking about Harry. You can talk to us too, you know? About anything.”

Something ice-cold slid down his back as she turned his hand over carefully, making the inside of his left arm face up. Her eyes were much softer than Draco would ever have thought possible, and she _knew_. His sleeve was still covering that damned scar, but somehow, she knew.

Draco pulled away and gripped his lower arm with his right hand, facing it away from her. And her eyebrows drew together in sorrowful confirmation.

“You don’t have to hide it, Draco. We won’t judge you. There are plenty of people who self-harmed before coming to the gym. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Draco shook his head. Thoughts were racing through his head, but very few of them made any sense. This was all kinds of fucked up. Here she was, worried about his well-being, while Draco was hiding the mark that proclaimed his superiority over her – over all of them. His willingness to watch them be enslaved or killed. He felt dizzy and sick.

“I’m not,” he whispered. He didn’t know why he was whispering, Malfoy’s _never_ whispered, but he couldn’t do anything to change it. “I think I …”

Draco gestured vaguely towards the stairs, but she grabbed his shoulder – the right one – immediately. She looked angry.

“I’m sorry! Don’t go. I completely fucked this up, I know I’m no good at it.” Her brown eyes were narrowed in urgency. “Don’t go. I won’t mention it again, I promise. Just – I promise that’s the last I will say about it – if you ever do want to talk – no matter what it’s about - we’ll listen.” She smiled at him fiercely and opened the door for him.

Draco stood frozen to the spot. Everything inside him wanted to flee, turn his back on the horribleness of it all. But he also knew that it was his own fault, and that leaving now would only add to that. He owed it to them to stay and be better than he had been.

He took a deep, shaky breath and went back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the last part: Lauren assumes that Draco self-harms, because he always keeps his left arm covered. Draco is ashamed, because she cares so much about him and he’s hiding something that basically means he used to hate people like her. He ultimately decides to stay at the party, because he doesn’t want to run from his guilt but be a better person.


	45. Into the Fire [Tuesday, September 27th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who had something nice to say: burninglikeacid, filidoune, hitomu, Fan, PrimeMinisterofEverything, Slytherinz_Ghost, SHkatty, Fandomwarriorqueen, ThatBoringOne, XOX_Eternity_XOX, WildvanillaRose and hush_over_the_night! 😊
> 
> Also, nice to hear where you are from as well! Und hallöchen an alle deutsch-sprachigen Leser! 😊
> 
> Alright, since the last chapter was a little short, I'm uploading this one a little earlier than usual.

Draco was exhausted. His shift had been supposed to end at _eleven_. He’d been planning to go to Grimmauld Place and have a midnight snack with Harry. He had been promised _waffles_ , for Merlin’s sake!

A nine-year-old Muggle-born had lost control of his magic and blown up his flat instead. The whole family – father, step-mother and two half-sisters – had been blasted with magic, which was why they’d been sent to spell-damages. But the boy had been buried beneath the rubble when the ceiling had caved in, so they’d given him to Draco. He guessed they’d been lucky the flat was on the top floor. Draco doubted any of them would still be alive if the building’s ground floor had collapsed.

Grimmauld Place was silent when Draco finally made it there. Harry was probably asleep already, but Draco still touched his necklace to let him know he was there. Better to wake him than face the alternative. The necklace could protect Draco against Harry’s magic, but it evidently wouldn’t protect him from getting strangled by accident.

He debated going directly to bed but ultimately decided against it. Harry hated when he came to bed reeking of cleaning spells. Draco didn’t like it either, but he wouldn’t have dragged himself to the shower if he’d been sleeping alone without the risk of getting pushed out of bed. Which really wasn’t all that unlikely.

Being the considerate partner he was, Draco cast a double silencing spell at the door and also the wall that separated the bath from the bedroom. It was a good thing too, because Draco cursed more than just a little bit when the water hit him, steaming hot from the start.

Harry was blinking up at him when he finally stumbled into the bedroom, already half-asleep.

“Time is it?”

Harry held the blanket open for him and Draco fell into bed face first. The blanket was draped around him and then he was dragged into blissfully warm arms.

“Quarter to four. Did you get my message?” 

Draco had used the Protean on his necklace to tell Harry he would be late. He’d barely had a minute to himself before the healing had started.

“Do you think I would’ve gone to sleep if I hadn’t?”

Draco sighed contently. “See? I get along just fine even without a Patronus. Also, it’s _hot_. How many did you cast?”

Harry shrugged behind him and buried his face between Draco’s shoulder blades. “Didn’t count.”

Draco closed his eyes and drifted off.

...

“You reek.”

Draco sighed drowsily. “Your shower _burned_ me. _Again_.”

“Why don’t you turn the temperature down if you know it’s gonna happen?”

Draco grumbled, but didn’t reply. Sleep.

…

He jumped when Harry suddenly whispered, “What happened?” what felt like an hour later. It probably wasn’t, because it was still dark outside.

“Abusive step-mother,” Draco muttered with only half his brain still working. “Muggle-born lost control. Or maybe he’s half. Don’t know about the real mother.”

Harry tensed up. Draco knew he wanted to ask something else but didn’t dare.

“They’ll live,” Draco added.

“And they’re gonna give him back to them.”

Draco flopped around and flung his arms around Harry, squeezing him as hard as his weak, aching arms would allow in the hopes it would shut him up.

“No. Let me sleep. _Please_.”

“No? What do you mean, _no_?”

Draco groaned. “I filed a motion with the Ministry. They’re going to see if they can find his mother’s family or place him with S.U.M.O. if they can’t. _Sleep_.”

“Sorry,” said Harry, suddenly in a much softer voice. He pressed a kiss to Draco’s forehead and was _finally_ silent.

~o~

Draco was rudely awakened when somebody shouted, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” and the bed dipped a second later. Harry kissed him hastily, stuffing something into his sports bag.

“Gotta run, lost track of time. There’s food in the kitchen, you can eat it whenever.” Harry was already at the bedroom door, and shouted the rest of it from the hallway. “Be back at three!”

Then there was a hiss, but Draco guessed that it wasn’t directed at him.

Draco turned around to find a more comfortable position and closed his eyes again. He sensed that he had reached the end of the bed, but couldn’t be arsed to move away. He was _tired_. If Harry was leaving, it must’ve been close to eight. That wasn’t _nearly_ enough sleep for him if he wanted to be somewhat useful during his night shift.

Draco’s second awakening wasn’t any more pleasant. Something flicked his cheek, followed by a hiss directly next to his ear. Draco flung himself aside automatically and landed on the floor with a thump. His heart was racing as he grabbed his wand from the bedside table and chanced a glance at the bed.

It was only Emerald. Of course it was, because what else would it be?

“Merlin’s underpants, you startled me.” Draco reached over to stroke her little head and she flicked her tongue again. “Yeah, I know. I’m just a little disoriented. Merlin, what time is it?”

It was three in the afternoon. Not that Emerald was any help in finding out about it. He wondered if she could have told Harry, or if snakes didn’t even have a concept of time.

Draco got up and then raided Harry’s closet, nicking his favourite joggers and most comfortable sweater. There were some of Draco’s own clothes in there too, but he decided to ignore that. Then he picked up Emerald and left the bedroom to find the breakfast Harry had talked about.

The attic was open.

Draco stood rooted to the spot, staring up the silver stairs. Not once in all the time Draco had spent there had Harry just left it open. Draco supposed that Harry could’ve forgotten in his haste. Being late for practice with Greyson surely was a concern.

He turned his head and went downstairs without looking back. Harry trusted him enough to leave him alone in his home. Draco wouldn’t break that trust.

There was a stack of waffles on the kitchen island and Draco’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. He let Emerald slither onto the counter and dug in. The waffles were still warm and crisp, and Draco thanked Merlin that Harry was so adapt at warming charms. He certainly had enough practice from keeping his own body toasty.

Draco was on his third helping when doubt started to creep into his mind. Did he _really_ think it was likely that Harry had simply forgotten about the attic?

If he was being honest, he _didn’t_ believe that. Harry was too pedantic, too paranoid. He wouldn’t slip up like that.

Then Draco remembered that he _had_ heard him hiss. Maybe he’d said goodbye to him first and _then_ gone up there to do something before he left? Which meant that he’d never come down and had to be up there still. Merlin, was that why Emerald had woken him up?

Draco ran upstairs, taking two steps at once, calling “Harry?” several times.

Nobody answered.

Draco _had_ to check. Just to make sure Harry hadn’t fainted and bashed his head against the Pensieve. Draco didn’t want to be _that_ guy, the one who ate waffles while his boyfriend was in extremis.

He went up cautiously, afraid that he could be right. “ _Harry?_ ”

_“THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!”_

A cold shiver ran down Draco’s back. He took the remaining stairs in a flash, wand raised high. That certainly wasn’t Harry’s voice, but it sounded murderous. Who in Merlin’s name was up there?

He was almost at the Pensieve when he realised that the voice had come from inside it and the attic _was_ empty after all. Draco looked into it and watched a younger Harry, fourteen at most, trying to slam the door shut before a very big, very angry man could get at him. It was no use – the man slammed against the door so hard that it knocked Harry right over.

Harry didn’t get up – maybe he thought the man (his uncle?) couldn’t bend that far down, making this position safer. He lifted his chin up instead, refusing to look afraid, but Draco could see the way he braced himself against the floor with clenched fists.

“HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE — PEOPLE LIKE YOU!”

“I live here too!” Harry’s voice was shaking, maybe with fear but definitely with rage.

His uncle didn’t seem to have a real answer to that. He just lunged forward, grabbed Harry’s upper arm and hauled him out of the room. Then he dragged him down the stairs, not caring at all when Harry stumbled several times and crashed into the wall, certainly not stopping to let him steady himself.

“Let go!” Harry yelled, but then there was a louder voice yelling, “Show him, Dad!” at the bottom of the stairs, and there appeared a blond boy as old as Harry but easily thrice as broad.

Harry’s cousin looked gleeful as he yanked open the door to the cupboard under the stairs, and then his uncle pushed him inside, slammed the door shut and everything went dark. There was a loud _thump,_ which was probably Harry throwing his whole bodyweight against the door. It must’ve been bolted from the outside, because it stayed firmly shut.

Draco grabbed the Pensieve with both hands, sure his wobbly knees wouldn’t hold him otherwise. He must’ve touched the surface accidentally, because then the whole world flipped upside down and went pitch black.

 _“I filed a motion with the Ministry.”_ It was barely a whisper, but Draco knew it was he who had said it.

Nobody had ever filed a motion for Harry. Draco didn’t even want to imagine having to _sleep_ inside that black hole of misery.

The memory faded away, thankfully, and was instantly replaced by the Defence classroom and Harry and Dumbledore standing at the desk.

 _“When one wizard saves another wizard’s life, it creates a certain bond between them,”_ Dumbledore said. _“This is magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable, Harry.”_

The scene changed again suddenly. They were at the Manor. Greyback had pushed Harry to the floor, keeping him on his knees with a tight hand at his neck. Draco was right in front of him, so close.

 _“I don’t know_ ... _I can’t be sure,”_ his past self said tentatively, against better knowledge.

Harry’s face may have been completely distorted, grotesque, but it didn’t change his olive skin, the stupid wild mob of hair or the bright, green eyes looking up at him, afraid and confused. Of course it was him. Draco could’ve told by any one of those things alone.

And suddenly they were gone and the world was in flames. He was surrounded by piles of furniture, trinkets and books, and they all were burning. Smoke was clouding his vision and Draco forgot he was safe.

He started to run, down the only path that wasn’t yet aflame. The fire roared behind him, leaping after him in the form of dragons and lions and gigantic serpents, devouring everything in their path. He was going to die here and there was nothing he could do – he didn’t even have his mother’s wand anymore. Mother – he would never see her again and she wouldn’t know. How could she know what had happened to him?

His path was cut off by a fiery griffin, setting the row of trash and treasures in front of him aflame. There was no way out, he had nowhere to go. He would die here all alone and the world was burning. He fell to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see it happen.

“ _Crabbe!_ ” someone was screaming and he looked up to his left.

On top of a large pile of stuff, there he was, a younger Draco, just as scared. Harry was reaching down to him now, saving him from certain death, and a second later the burning pile of furniture he had climbed on was collapsing, crashing towards the Draco who was cowering beside it now, the one Harry hadn’t pulled onto his broom.

Everything was orange and red and yellow and smoke and he could feel it, Merlin, he could feel the heat, it was burning him, eating him alive –

Everything was black and quiet. In the distance, so far, far away, the wind was howling, rain was drumming on the ground.

 _“Let’s go!”_ someone yelled, his voice echoing all around him.

Draco was sitting on the floor, if there even was one. It wasn’t really that everything was black – it was just nothing at all. Was this what death felt like?

 _“Burned,”_ someone whispered from far away, the same voice again. And he was right, Draco was burned up, devoured by the Fiendfyre. He looked down at his hands, but they were pale as ever, completely intact.

 _“Marked,”_ the voice said, and Draco pushed up his left sleeve, but it was still there.

The Fiendfyre hadn’t been able to rid him of the scar on his arm or on his soul. He wished he had never received the Mark. He wished he had declined, just refused to take it. Why hadn’t he been braver? Why hadn’t he done what was right? There must have been a way, something he hadn’t considered back then.

 _“I must not tell lies,”_ the voice said. And it was right. Draco was deceiving himself here. There had been no other way, because Draco was not special or brave or _important_. He was no Chosen One.

 _“One of a kind,”_ his voice whispered.

And maybe that was still true as well. He had fucked up his life by joining Him, well and truly – even if that really had been the only way. He had been pardoned because of Harry’s testimony, but could he ever really redeem himself? He would have to live with that thing on his arm forever, marking him as an outsider. Not in Azkaban, but never really free either.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Harry said right beside him and Draco’s own voice in the distance was his echo.

Draco looked up and there he was, just the two of them surrounded by the Nothing. Harry reached down for him and Draco took his hand and let himself be pulled from the memory and back into the attic.

“Well, I should be mad,” Harry said with crossed arms and a frown as Draco’s heart was beating in his throat. “But that would be pretty hypocritical.”

“Hypocritical?”

Harry sighed, brushing some of his hair out of his face. “I can’t pretend that I never accidentally looked at other peoples’ memories.”

Draco cleared his throat anxiously. “Accidentally.”

“About as accidentally as you just did,” Harry said pointedly.

“The door was open! I just went in to check that you weren’t up here, dead or something.”

“I know.” Harry sighed again. “Emerald told me. It’s my fault for not checking it was closed properly. I must’ve slurred the words in the hurry.”

“So ... you’re not mad at me?”

Harry frowned. “I wanted to be, but you didn’t exactly pick the best memory to fall into. Seems like punishment enough.”

“I didn’t _pick_ anything; it was already going on when I fell in! If anything, _you_ picked that.” Draco gestured over his shoulder, not keen on looking at the Pensieve ever again.

Harry took his arm gently and finally escorted him out of the attic.

“Had to get it out of my head.”

“Yeah. I’d like to get that out of my head too. Permanently.”

Harry closed the attic (Draco hoped he’d never have to see it again) and then turned to face him. “I don’t anymore.”

“Don’t tell me you _like_ to remember that! You’re not that good a liar.”

“Oh, it was _literal_ hell; I’m not saying it wasn’t. I just think that the Fiendfyre was one of our defining moments too.”

He didn’t mention any of the other memories. Draco wasn’t going to tell him that he had seen more than the one. He remembered how it had felt to realise that Harry had seen some of his weakest moments – Rowle, Dumbledore – and could imagine how Harry would feel if he knew Draco had seen how terrible his childhood had _really_ been.

“What, you think you wouldn’t _like_ me anymore if you didn’t remember almost being burned alive?”

“I’d be afraid that maybe I wouldn’t _love_ you as much if I forgot the less terrible parts of our history.”

Had Draco’s mouth been this dry the whole time? He couldn’t even say, but he was sure that his heart hadn’t been beating this hard a second prior.

“Do you?” – _Love me?_

Harry grinned and took his hand. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” said Draco, who never had anyone confess their romantical love for him before. “Good.”

“ _Good?_ ” Harry huffed a laugh.

“Brilliant.”

“Wow, you’re rubbish at this.”

Draco lifted his chin up. “I think I’m handling this better than you did.”

“I’m _pretty_ sure I kissed you. Enthusiastically.”

“You kicked my arse first.”

Harry threw his hands up in mock despair, nearly flinging Draco’s hand in his own face. “Will you _ever_ let that go?”

“Maybe. I could see myself forgiving you when I’m on my death bed.”

“Why do _you_ get to die first?”

“I’m older than you.”

“Barely! Also, my job is more dangerous. So, if anything, I’m dying first.”

“Oh please. A patient tried to hit me with her own severed arm yesterday. _Also_ , how long do you think you’ll get to play Quidditch? Another fifteen years, if you’re lucky. I’m going to be a Healer until I drop dead. Because one of them killed me, probably. Just after I forgive you for beating me up, of course.”

“I didn’t _‘beat you up’_! I can see it already; By the time you’re ready to forgive me – which will be in a hundred years, when you’re old as fuck – it will be for beating you within an inch of your life. With a bat, probably.”

“Well you certainly won’t have any witnesses left by that point, so it’s going to be your word against mine. And who would accuse a dying man of lying?”

Harry glared at him half-heartedly. “Great, why don’t you remind me that all my Muggle friends are going to die of old age long before we will?”

“More than I already did?”

“ _Don’t_ you have to go to work? Like right now?”

Draco grinned viciously. “Night shift, _darling_. You get to enjoy me another seven hours.”

Harry groaned. Draco knew not to take it seriously, because then Harry took his hand again and led him down the hallway to the staircase. “Come on, you can help me peel the potatoes.”

“You _never_ do that by hand,” Draco countered, but he followed him to the kitchen nonetheless.

“Fine, you can help me make the potatoes peel themselves.”

~o~

The potatoes had just jumped out of their skin when the window opened and Odysseus flew in. Draco picked up Emerald, who was coiled in a sunny spot on the counter, and retreated to another corner of the kitchen. He told himself it was to keep her safe, seeing as he had first met her with a serious raptor wound, but if the snake managed to keep the owl at bay, that was just as well.

Harry took the scroll and read it, wand still pointed at the potatoes so they would scrub themselves in the sink. He cast a fleeting glance at Odysseus and grabbed a pen from the drawer to scribble his answer. He then handed the parchment back to Odysseus, but the owl lingered. Of course. Probably did it on purpose to show Draco who was boss.

Draco decided to just ignore it in the hopes that Odysseus would get bored and scatter. He placed Emerald in his front pocket and said, “So, what does he want _this_ time? He literally saw you half an hour ago.”

“The Wasps are putting in Sherwood as Seeker on Sunday. Kimbrough is at Mungo’s.”

“And ...?” Draco prompted.

“Nothing important, apart from that. The Catapults’ Seeker quit unexpectedly. Seems like his girlfriend got relocated to Italy and he went with her. But seeing as we already played them on your birthday, I don’t really care about that.”

Draco waited, but Harry didn’t say anything else. He also wasn’t really meeting his eyes, looking at the owl instead.

“ _And_ …?”

Harry gave him a fleeting look. “ _Why_ do you think there’s more?”

“Well, you looked guilty, for one. Also, that’s a very long letter for that little information.”

“Alright, fine.” Harry sighed under his breath. “I wanted you to have a look at something, actually.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the ceiling. He continued to ignore Odysseus (which was not that easy, because he was still sitting right next to where Harry was standing) and came over. “What did you do?”

“Well, remember I told you we were going to hold try-outs for Reserve Beaters today …?”

Now Draco groaned. “Where did the Bludger hit you?”

Harry leaned against the kitchen island and lifted his shirt. “It was the bat, actually,” he said quite unnecessarily, because yes, Draco could see that.

“You’re _definitely_ going to die before me,” Draco said in his most stern voice. “I’m surprised Greyson didn’t make you go to St. Mungo’s after practice.”

He pointed his wand at the area of impact while Harry shrugged and pointed his own wand at something over Draco’s shoulder (probably the potatoes).

“He might have.”

“And you lied and told him you would go?” Draco tapped his wand against Harry’s torso to heal the fissure in one of his ribs and then summoned essence of arnica from upstairs.

Harry grinned at him while Draco applied the paste to his chest. “Why would I go _there_ if I know where to find _you_? You are the official Team Healer, right?”

“Ah, so _that’s_ why I’m here, is it? I’ve been starting to wonder.”

“Well, if you want, you can stay for dinner too. It’s the least I can do to pay for your services.”

“How very generous,” said Draco. “Inviting me to dinner at half past four, half an hour after I’ve had lunch.”

“Not my fault you’re sleeping the day away, is it? Besides, it’s never too early to eat, especially if it’s drowned in cheese.”

Draco pulled Harry’s shirt down and took a step back. “Well, I’m definitely not going to eat here if that owl stays any longer. That’s just unsanitary.”

Harry grinned and finally managed to coax Odysseus out of the window several minutes later.

~o~

“So, _did_ the witch hit you with her arm yesterday?” Harry asked when they had finished eating and the plates were washing themselves.

“No, her aim was off.” Draco grinned fondly at the memory. Trauma really was something else. “It was her wand arm she was throwing at me.”

Harry laughed. “That’s just poor planning on her part.”

The rest of the evening until the start of Draco’s night shift was spent in the sitting room, Draco working on his research and Harry studying his notes on the Wasps’ Reserve Seeker with Emerald draped around his shoulders.


	46. Main Attraction [Saturday, October 22nd 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much, Chinykawaii, AlluraBelle, illindalenti, burninglikeacid, filidoune, powderbleu, Fan, XOX_Eternity_XOX, hush_over_the_night, Slytherinz_Ghost, Fandomwarriorqueen, XOX_Eternity_XOX and ThatBoringOne. 🤗  
> It’s my sister’s birthday and I have to celebrate it _somehow_ , so here’s the next chapter already (also, I really can’t wait for chapter 50 to happen)! 😊 So this one’s for you, Jule (even though you’re never gonna read this!) 😅

Draco had never thought that Angelina Johnson would be someone he ever saw again after Hogwarts. He hadn’t even really seen her _at_ Hogwarts – the only reason he had known her name at all had been her status as Gryffindor Chaser. And now he was at her birthday party, at her and George’s house. It was weird.

The house was filled with her former classmates from various houses and other people Draco didn’t know. They knew him, of course. It seemed that Draco had at least somewhat risen in their esteem since the end of the war – mainly because of his role as the Saviour’s saviour. Some of them even spoke with him for more than two sentences.

The younger (extended) family members were also there, which was a good thing, because that way he didn’t feel alone. Harry had promised to meet him there as well, but had yet to show up. Draco wondered what was keeping him – maybe he had to do a perimeter check before he could come inside.

“Stop that,” Blaise snapped at him an hour into the party.

“I’m not doing anything,” said Draco, emptying his cup (the re-filling kind, again – when would these people learn?) for the umpteenth time.

“You’re constantly looking at the door. People will think something’s wrong with you. It’s embarrassing.”

So what if he was a little nervous, representing fifty percent of all the Slytherins in attendance. Blaise had Ginny there to defend him (not that Draco would ever admit that he was in need of Harry’s protection – he was a strong, independent wizard who didn’t need no man).

Also, people knew about Ginny and Blaise’s relationship and didn’t care. Blaise didn’t have to watch what he did or said. Draco would have to keep his distance from Harry, limit the eye contact. Still, just knowing that he was in the same room would boost Draco’s confidence. Not that he would tell him that, either.

“Shut up,” Draco muttered. He sipped his drink just for something to do. He could _not_ look at the door for five minutes. Piece of cake. He would just people-watch instead. People were just as interesting as doors.

Take Hermione for example – she was very interesting to look at, because she was practically completely round at this point. Draco wondered if she would just keep rolling if she happened to fall down a hill. Not that he would advise her to do that. That was usually not beneficial for the foetus. Hermione must have come through the floo just now, because Draco had not seen her earlier and she had definitely not entered through the door – not that Draco was keeping tabs on it.

“Sucks to be Hermione on a boozy night like this,” Draco commented. “I don’t know if I could take all these pissed people if I were sober.”

He looked away from Hermione to where Blaise had been standing, but the bastard had vanished. Probably to disassociate himself from the embarrassment that was Draco. He could add soliloquies to the list of Draco’s quirks.

Somebody snatched the cup from his hand suddenly and Draco whirled around to face the raider. He came face to face with Not-Potter, the guy Draco had first kissed at Bill’s birthday party almost a year ago. Harry looked a few years older, once again scar-less and his eyes a bright blue.

“What a coincidence!” Harry said, returning the cup to Draco’s hand after taking a sip. “Remember me?”

Draco shook his head, trying to clear his head some. Why could that man never just get his own drink?

“Can’t say I do. What was your name again?”

Harry punched his arm with considerable force. “You didn’t tell me you are such a player.” Harry raised one eyebrow suggestively. “You can call me Enrico if you want.”

“And if I don’t?” Draco smirked provocatively, trying not to laugh out loud. He didn’t exactly want to think of Mrs. Capitelli while flirting with his boyfriend out in the open.

Harry leaned in, whispering into his ear. “Tonight, my name is whatever you want it to be.”

There was a rushing sound in Draco’s ears, which could only have been all his blood leaving his head on its way down. He cleared his throat and emptied his cup hurriedly. “Let’s go somewhere. With sitting accommodations.”

Preferably also some pillows to cover his expanding _problem_.

He would have loved to just take Harry and leave, but it wasn’t Angelina’s birthday for another two hours. Also, people would talk if they saw Draco and a Harry Potter look-alike leave together. Somehow, he didn’t think that the overall reaction would be positive. Why did Harry have to be such a _tease_? Picking this appearance had definitely not been a coincidence. Harry never reused his disguises – usually.

“How are you still able to pronounce such posh words as _‘accommodations’_? I can see you are sloshed. It’s entirely unfair.”

“It’s called etiquette,” Draco replied loftily, leading the way to a squished crimson sofa which was the only one still empty (probably because it was situated directly in front of the fireplace – Harry certainly wouldn’t mind). They sat down and Draco promptly placed a pillow in his lap, pretending to examine it.

“By the way, this does not excuse your tardiness. You owe me an hour of my life.”

Harry turned his head to grin at him wickedly. Anonymity really was making him bold. “I think I can spare you an hour. Any specific requests?”

“For the love of Merlin, please stop coming onto me,” Draco groaned reluctantly. “I’ve got a reputation to lose.”

“And here I thought your homosexuality was an open secret,” Harry mused. “You’re not exactly careful with who you admit it to, are you? You did to me.” Harry gestured at his altered body, referring to Bill’s party.

“It may be open, but it’s still a secret. Not like I expected you to go around bragging about making out with a former Death Eater,” Draco said. He wasn’t exactly ready to let people know – that would mean defying his parents for good. “I’m not keen on becoming the talk of the party.”

But it seemed like that was something Draco did not have to worry about, because the party did already have something to talk about. It was barely half an hour later when Angelina approached Hermione and Ron, who were standing nearby.

“Have you seen this?” she hissed, handing them a magazine while looking over her shoulder nervously. Both of them stared down at it for a second. Then Hermione snatched it from Angelina, rolled it up and stashed it in her purse.

“Nobody else seems to have seen it yet,” she whispered. “Let’s hope we can keep it like that for tonight.”

All three of them looked over at Harry, who fortunately didn’t notice because he was scrutinising a plate of cupcakes. Hermione caught Draco’s questioning look and shook her head.

“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,” Draco said, taking the plate from Harry and placing it on a side table. “I talked to George at dinner last week and he said something about launching an addition to their Canary Cream.”

“You really can’t trust anybody,” Harry grumbled. “Maybe it’s time I take after Moody and carry a flask and lunchbox at all times. Be right back, I’ll just talk to Angelina for a second,” he added, making his way over to the kitchen where she had vanished to.

Draco jumped to his feet as soon as he was out of sight, and strode over to Hermione and Ron. “What’s wrong?” he whispered urgently.

She handed him the magazine and then angled her body so it would shield him from curious looks. Merlin knew her body was large enough to accomplish it.

The cover of _Witch Weekly_ read _‘HARRY POTTER’S SECRET DOUBLE LIFE’,_ completely in upper-case letters.

Underneath was a photo of Harry and Mathews at Ella’s birthday party last month. They were looking at the camera – Mathews practically glowing and Harry flashing one of his too perfect smiles that told anyone who knew him that Harry was not enjoying himself at all. It was a Muggle photograph and therefore not moving, which was why Harry’s discomfort was not as visible.

Draco flipped the magazine open and rifled through it until he found the same photo again. The caption read _‘Potter was seen flirting with a gorgeous red-head, who remains unnamed as of yet’_.

“Flirting? As _if_ ,” Draco growled. “I bet she told them that herself.”

“Read the article,” Ron murmured glumly.

_You would be hard pressed to find a wizard or witch alive who does not know of Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding world. Asking any random Muggle, however, would yield much different results. Maybe that is the reason why Harry Potter (25) apparently ventures into the Muggle World on a steady basis. Sources tell us that he is regularly seen with a consistent group of Muggle friends who remain oblivious to Harry’s renown and believe him to be a moderately successful footballer (for a brief explanation of football, see page 25)._

_Also involved in the charade are the remaining two-thirds of the Golden Trio, Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Hermione Granger and Auror Ronald Weasley._

_But curiously, there is another wizard in on Harry’s well-kept secret – Draco Malfoy, who was made the Falmouth Falcons’ Team Healer in January and gained Harry’s friendship in the process – or so it would seem._

_Our source tells us about a strange scene that transpired when Malfoy joined the party in question. No sooner had Malfoy entered the flat than Harry removed him from the party forcefully, claiming there was something they needed to sort out. They returned a few minutes later and then proceeded to shun each other for the rest of the evening. Friends reportedly refused to talk about any feuds that might be going on between the two of them, claiming only that they indeed are friends._

_We can only hope that Malfoy has not foiled Harry Potter’s chance at finding love again and that Harry will be able to reconnect with his mysterious acquaintance._

_By Cordelia Elphaba_

There were two other photographs. The first was the group shot that Lauren had arranged – all of the guests grouped around a sofa that was completely hidden by the mass of people. Harry and Draco were at opposite ends, as far away from each other as they could get. Harry stood between Hermione, Ron, Neville and Hannah while Draco was caught in a hug between Lauren and Olivia.

The second photo showed Harry dragging him along by the arm, the tension in both their bodies clearly palpable. It certainly looked like they were just seconds away from a brawl. Well, Draco supposed this scoop was still better than what the two of them had almost revealed by accident. He much preferred this photo to one of Harry attacking him with his mouth.

“Well, that’s inconvenient,” Draco said, handing the magazine back to Hermione.

“Does Samantha know?” Hermione asked. “About the two of you, not this.”

Draco shook his head. “We decided not to tell her. At least not until we plan to make it public … _if_ we decide to make it public.”

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. She was smiling, but her eyes were sad. “I’m sure you’ll get there.”

Draco shrugged and looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening. “I don’t know. He thinks that going public ruins all his relationships. And I’m not exactly popular. I don’t think people will be happy for us.”

Hermione took a jam tart from a platter that was floating by. “Don’t sell yourself short, Draco. You’ve changed. The fans love you.”

“Yeah, _now_.” Draco tried to supress the bitterness that was rising inside him. “As long as I don’t get _too_ close to their Saviour. They’re crazy about him.”

Hermione laughed, but there was no humour there. “You could say that. People sent me _death threats_ when Skeeter told them we were dating in our fourth year. Well, she wrote that I was playing with his feelings, but I’m not sure _that_ was the part people really cared about.”

Draco grimaced. “Perfect. Maybe we should just move to Australia or something. At least he’d be warm there.”

“Hold it!” George appeared suddenly, snatching the jam tart from Hermione before she could bite into it. “That’s not for you. Alcohol.”

He handed Draco the tart instead and disappeared again, glancing back at them over his shoulder. Hermione looked after him as Draco studied the tart.

“The cupcakes are safe.” Harry said, slinging an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. He was already eating one and holding another in his free hand. “Angelina says to watch out for the –”

“Jam tart?” Draco guessed, putting it back on the next tray that came by.

“Yeah. Did I miss it?” Harry took a look around, but nobody was sporting animalistic features they didn’t normally have.

They didn’t have to wait that long. There was a loud roar that made everybody jump and Hannah Abbott turned orange with black stripes.

“Tiger tarts!” George shouted, taking Hannah by the hand and spinning her around so everybody could see her in full glory. Somebody took a picture. Behind them, Neville put his own tart down hastily, looking incredibly relieved.

Draco decided to stick to the food that George deemed safe to be consumed by his pregnant sister-in-law from now on.

~o~

Harry and Draco excused themselves at one in the morning, exactly fifteen minutes after Dean Thomas and his new girlfriend had broken first ground, which meant it had to be acceptable for them to leave too.

They reappeared in Harry’s hallway, which was dark and quiet. As usual, Harry immediately went for the kitchen to check the post. Draco grabbed his upper arm and spun him around, pulling him in closer by the neck.

Thankfully, Harry was into it. Grinning up at him, he said, “Eager, are we?”

“Promises were made,” Draco answered, risking a look into the kitchen.

Yes, there was definitely more post than usual. Draco really didn’t want to deal with that _now_. He hadn’t pulled himself together for four hours just to get cockblocked by some pulpy magazine.

“You made me wait,” Draco said pointedly, pulling him over to the stairs.

Harry laughed and kissed him fervently.

Draco didn’t know what kind of dark magic Hermione had used to tame Harry’s now-brown hair to such a degree. He also didn’t really _want_ to know. Draco found that this version was way less fun than the usual uncontrollable mob. Less mass to just bury his fingers in, much less to grab onto while they fell onto the bed. Which did not mean that Draco would stop making fun of Harry’s hair. That was his vested right as his boyfriend.

“This feels really weird,” Draco muttered, running a hand through Harry’s hair. Harry looked up at him with his new blue eyes, which _really_ didn’t help. Draco shook his head. “Definitely not a fan.”

“You liked it well enough last year,” Harry argued, unbuttoning Draco’s shirt. He trailed kisses down his chest and Draco’s threw his head back against the pillow. Not seeing him definitely made it easier.

“I didn’t have the real thing last year.”

Harry breathed out noisily and rolled off Draco to snatch his wand from the side table. Turning back into his own self only took a second and Harry didn’t seem all that annoyed anymore when Draco pushed him onto his back and rolled on top of him.

~o~

There was a buzz in his ears when Draco woke up a little later. He dragged a pillow over his head and then spread out an arm towards Harry’s side. Which was empty and cold.

Groaning, Draco pushed the pillow away and fished for a pair of pants on the floor. The bedroom was cast into dim, golden light from the orb on the bedside table and it was still very much dark outside. Draco checked the clock – quarter past three. What the fuck was Harry doing out of bed in the middle of the night?

Draco didn’t even have to search for him – he was just outside the bedroom door, having a go at the punch bag hanging from the ceiling. It wasn’t hard to guess why he was doing it and Draco could just imagine Harry picturing the girls face as kicked the bag up high.

Well, Draco wasn’t stupid enough to startle him when he was in a mood, so he went back into the bedroom, leaving the door wide open so he could watch Harry kick the crap out of the imaginary bitch, wearing only Draco’s pants. Not a bad view.

It didn’t last long (though of course Draco didn’t know how long Harry had been up already). Harry whipped around suddenly and stomped into the bedroom, not really surprised to see that the door was open and Draco was sitting with his back against the head board.

“You said her name is Mathews?” Harry asked through clenched teeth.

Draco did a shrug-nod combination. “I thought your thing was anger-cooking?”

“I did that first, didn’t help. There are pancakes in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” Harry massaged the knuckles of his wand hand, giving him a hard look. “Does she work at Mungo’s?”

Draco sighed and stretched out a hand. “You don’t want to hex her. You’d just play into her cards. Imagine the kind of stories she could sell if you did it.”

Harry crossed his arms (damn, that really brought out his biceps!) and ignored Draco’s hand. “I don’t care. She exposed my friends! What if somebody decides to find them?”

Being ignored didn’t mean that Draco had to leave him alone, so he leaned forward and pulled Harry onto the bed by his arm. Feeling it felt even better than just looking, but Draco _could_ concentrate.

“Be reasonable. Not one of them was mentioned by name and you’re not anywhere near them in the photo.”

Harry didn’t seem convinced, but he did swing his legs up onto the bed, which indicated that he was going to stay and listen.

Draco continued in his most rational voice. “Also, the article makes it sound like we hate each other’s guts, so people would never suspect that you are friends with the girls _I’m_ standing next to.”

Harry threw his hands up in the air, which was sad, because now his biceps looked less impressive. “Mathews knows!”

Draco leaned forward to place both hands at the back of his head and keep him still. “Mathews isn’t interested in them. She just wants to make it seem like there could be something between the two of you.”

“Well, there isn’t. What happens when the reporters find her and ask for names?”

The air around them felt slightly static, but Draco decided to ignore that in favour of staying focused on the important things. Besides, he was wearing the necklace. He was perfectly safe.

“I don’t think she’d take that deal. The article makes it seem like it wasn’t her that sold these photos. Giving them your friends’ names is much riskier. She won’t burn that bridge; she must know that you would never get involved with her after something like that.”

“Or I could just find her and threaten her,” said Harry hotly.

It felt like Harry’s deep green eyes stared directly into Draco, all the way inside. It felt unsettling and immensely intense at the same time. Draco carded his fingers through the soft curls at Harry’s neck in an attempt at calming him down.

“She would have no reason to keep silent if you were the first to burn that bridge. Remember that love is a much more powerful motivator than fear.”

Harry opened his mouth immediately, clearly outraged, and Draco drew him in at once, pressing their lips together and then whispering, “I know it’s not love, but people have a habit of losing themselves in the most absurd fantasies, especially if they concern you.”

“Why do people have to be so shitty?! God, I’m just _so_ angry!”

Harry was trembling under Draco’s hands, opening and closing his fists and effectively flexing his biceps at the same time. Merlin, how was it possible for Draco to get so hot and bothered again so soon?

“I know,” said Draco, kissing him again, first on the lips and then down his neck and along his clavicle.

It felt like Harry wanted to say something else, so Draco bit his shoulder lightly. Harry grabbed Draco’s upper arms and pressed him down into the mattress in one swift move that did nothing to counteract the rising pressure inside him.

“Damn it, Draco. Stop distracting me! I’m trying to carry my anger into the morning, when I can finally go and find that bitch!”

Draco fixed him with a raised elbow and grinned filthily. “It’s not my fault you look so hot when you’re angry.”

The static in the air collapsed suddenly, leaving just a light tingle on Draco’s bare skin, and then Harry was on top of him, pressing him deep into the mattress with every last pound of his strong, lean body that seemed to glow in the golden light, contrasting with Draco’s paleness in the most delicious way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I spent some time creating the Muggles (Lauren, Ella, Callum and Olivia) in the Sims and this is how I always picture them. 😊


	47. Things We Lost [Monday, October 31st 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the second one for today. Wouldn’t be a celebration otherwise, would it? 😊 Also, we’ve officially crossed the halfway mark!
> 
> If you’re interested to see what the Falcons look like, check out the [endnotes for chapter twenty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129308/chapters/55927840#chapter_20_endnotes). 😉
> 
> Thanks to the lovely people who managed to comment in between: filidoune, Superfan1224, Slytherinz_Ghost, Fandomwarriorqueen and XOX_Eternity_XOX! 😊
> 
> Title: Bastille - Things We Lost In The Fire

Draco had not seen Harry for three whole days, which really shouldn’t have made him feel so low. Three days weren’t that long a time. It was just really strange after spending seven nights in a row at Harry’s before this hiatus.

Draco wasn’t used to waking up in the drearily furnished on-call room all by himself anymore. Or worse – with Nash snoring in the bunk above him. Or worst: walking in on her and Abrams shagging in there.

Draco was looking forward to meeting up with Harry and the others at the pub tonight. Even if they insisted on everybody wearing a costume. He was prepared. Well, almost.

There were just some details he still had to take care of, which was why he stopped by Harry’s after work to make plans for later and pick up some essentials for his costume – without Harry noticing, if at all possible. Him knowing about Draco’s costume beforehand would take all the fun out of it.

He needn’t have worried, because Emerald was the only one at home when Draco Apparated over. Draco got what he needed and then used the Protean on his necklace to tell Harry to meet up directly at the pub at nine.

~o~

Puzzled looks followed Draco as he pushed his way through the pub. People could tell that he was in costume but not what he was supposed to be. Not that Draco expected ordinary Muggles to understand. He could already see their table when their regular waitress (dressed like a Vampire, apparently) spotted him and burst out laughing. Draco winked at her and she shook her head, still giggling.

Olivia, who was dressed completely in grey and wearing a pair of big fuzzy ears (a dog or wolf, maybe?), saw him first and promptly chocked on her drink. Lauren (a dress and a red cape – whatever that was supposed to be) slapped her on the back while the others tried to find out what had made her laugh so hard.

She pointed at him between coughs and they finally recognised him beneath the wig. Neville (covered in ivy from head to toe) laughed so hard he fell from his chair and it took the table several minutes to settle down again.

“Where did you find a wig that matches his hair that perfectly?” Olivia giggled.

“I just located a shop that sells merchandise and bought it,” Draco replied with a grin. “Someone as famous as Harry is a popular choice on Halloween.”

“Naturally, how could I forget that there is a superstar amongst us on a regular basis?” Olivia commented, barely supressing laughter. She gestured at the sweater Draco was wearing, crimson with a golden lion. “Do they sell those sweaters too?”

“They probably do. But I stole this one,” Draco admitted shamelessly.

The shop Draco had owl-ordered the wig from _did_ have Harry’s Quidditch robes and a mock-broom in stock, but Draco didn’t need those, of course.

“A touch of authenticity, I like it. And the eye colour too, good job, Draco!” said Olivia approvingly. She leaned over and touched the face paint on his forehead. “Although you didn’t get yourself a _real_ scar, I’ll have to take points for that.”

“Just you wait until Harry gets here,” Draco boasted, raking a hand through his (magically attached) hair. “You won’t be able to tell the difference. Unless he’s disguised as a vampire or something. Which would make me the more convincing Harry out of the two of us. But seriously, what’s with all the vampires?”

“Oh, Harry is not coming,” Luna (unicorn) interjected in her usual dreamy voice. Draco turned to stare at her, his eyebrows knit together tightly.

“What do you mean _‘not coming’_?” he asked cautiously.

Why wouldn’t Harry tell him if he wasn’t attending this ridiculous party? He was the only reason Draco was here, for fuck’s sake! And in costume, no less!

Merlin, he hoped Harry hadn’t decided to go after Mathews after all! Draco had thought he had him convinced to let it go, but three days without a voice of reason were a long time to plan something.

“He never celebrates Halloween with us,” said Callum, who wasn’t even in costume, wearing a leather jacket instead. And they had told _Draco_ that he wouldn’t be allowed in without a costume. Hypocrites.

Next to Callum, Ella was wearing a blue and white dress with the words ‘Police Box’ written across the chest. She was looking uncomfortable. All of them did, now that Draco was paying attention. Like there was a huge Erumpent in the room, which Draco just couldn’t see.

“He hates it,” Cowgirl Ginny said glumly. “He usually keeps to himself a few days before and after. Barely made it to the end of Mum’s birthday dinner yesterday. Doesn’t go to practice either. We thought he must have talked to you.”

“I haven’t seen Harry in three days,” Draco said. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like what they were about to tell him.

“And you didn’t find that odd?” said Lauren, acting like they usually were joined at the hip or something.

“No,” Draco said thoughtfully, “I had the night shift and couldn’t make time, not the other way around. Will someone _please_ tell me what’s so bad about Halloween?”

Ginny looked downright miserable. “It’s the night his parents were murdered.”

A cold hand had taken hold of Draco’s insides and, for a moment, it felt like his heart had stopped, but then it picked up again at twice the usual rate, hammering violently. His hands felt very clammy all of a sudden.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Damn it, why am I such an idiot sometimes?” Draco got up and snatched the wig from his head. It came right off, per its enchantment, and he dropped it on the table. “Do you know where he usually goes on Halloween?”

“His house, I guess,” said Ginny in a sympathetic tone. “Hermione and Ron tried talking to him a few years ago, but he just kept the door shut and ignored them.”

Draco shook his head. “He wasn’t home an hour ago. Any other ideas?”

But none of them had one. Draco supposed that Hermione would probably have a pretty good guess, but she was on bedrest and quite possibly already asleep. Harry would likely kill him if Draco bothered his very pregnant best friend on his behalf.

“Notify me if you hear anything,” Draco said, and with a half-hearted wave of his hand, he was gone.

He re-checked the house first but it was still empty as was the leftmost clothes hook, the one closest to the door and reserved for his Invisibility Cloak. Which meant Harry was definitely not home. How was Draco ever supposed to find him? He slumped on the bottom step of the staircase and tried another Protean, not really expecting it to work, since Harry hadn’t reacted to the first one either.

Alright, he had to think. Where would Harry go?

Harry liked to go flying when he needed to clear his head, but it was already pitch-dark outside. The Falcons’ pitch would be lit-up, but the chances of running into someone were way too high. Too many people had access. What else?

Harry never really celebrated his birthday either, and Draco knew for a fact that he had Poly-Juiced himself and found a one-night stand at least once. But that certainly wasn’t applicable now. Harry was no cheater.

A soft thud came from upstairs and then Emerald was slithering down towards him. Draco picked her up and placed her in his lap, stroking her head softly.

“Do you know where he went?” Draco asked silently, knowing full well that it was no use. “He probably tells _you_ all kinds of things.”

Emerald flicked her tongue at him, which Draco found oddly comforting. He stood up, cradling her in his arms, and climbed the stairs. Maybe he could find a clue in Harry’s study? Emerald rose when they passed by the sitting room, looking up at her silvery likeness in the ceiling. The Snitches twinkled in the moonlight that streamed in through the enormous windows like dozens of stars.

“Everything I need to know is probably up there,” Draco grumbled. “But it’s no use, Em. I can’t open it.”

She swayed lightly, staring at him unblinkingly like always. Then she hissed something, an answer maybe, but of course Draco didn’t understand.

“You know I don’t speak Parsel –” he began, but the rest of his sentence was lost as the two silver serpents unfolded and descended onto the floor, building the staircase to Harry’s secret attic. “ _Oh no_.”

This wasn’t good. He wanted to find Harry, yes. But he certainly was not supposed to be up there. Harry would be livid if he found out. Draco half wished Emerald hadn’t opened the attic for him.

Maybe he was telling himself that he was still fighting the temptation, but deep down, Draco knew that he was weak when it came to opportunities such as this. How could he pass up the easy way to finding Harry when it was there for the taking? What good was it to find out another way if the result was the same?

It was with a guilty conscience that he went upstairs.

The first thing Draco saw was the boggart chest, placed directly next to the entrance. Draco tried not to think about what was hidden inside it and took a few hasty steps to get away from it.

The Pensieve stood in the middle of the room, casting its eerie light on the walls and ceiling. The surface was swirling, like it was sensing the presence of someone searching for a memory.

This was it. Draco had to decide now – go against Harry’s wishes and choose the easy path or turn around and do it the right way?

Draco stepped forward and placed a hand on the rim.

“Halloween.”

A figure rose from the Pensieve, their back to Draco. It was a young man in jeans and a crimson sweater, his hair all over the place – Harry! But where was he? Draco couldn’t see the surroundings without immersing himself in the memory.

He took a step forward, just as the figure turned around. And Draco saw that it wasn’t Harry after all – hazel eyes behind glasses, and no scar. Draco’s gaze fell down onto the small child in James Potter’s arms. Another figure emerged, a woman this time, and James handed Harry over to her. They sank back into the Pensieve and only Harry’s father remained.

Absolute dread was threatening to overcome Draco. He had a feeling that he knew what he was going to witness next, but he couldn’t summon the strength to stop it. He just stood rooted to the spot as another, much more terrible figure emerged, as James Potter dropped into the Pensieve, as Lily shielded Harry from the Dark Lord and paid with her life as well. The memory ended as silver mist collapsed back into the Pensieve.

Draco stumbled backwards suddenly, as if on a starting signal. Emerald had wound herself around his arm tightly, maybe sensing his discomfort, and she was hissing at him urgently. He ignored her in favour of stumbling out of the attic, missing the last two steps and tumbling to the floor in a heap.

“Close it, just close it,” Draco spluttered, staying on his hands and knees to keep the world from turning so much. He barely registered the attic sealing itself, or Em’s nudges against his chest. He fumbled for his wand, dropping it and picking it back up hastily.

“ _Placo!_ ” he cast, feeling a faint wave of calm roll over him in an instant.

Casting it on himself wasn’t very effective, but it would have to do. Draco placed Emerald on her favourite tree branch and then thundered down the stairs, grabbing at his necklace and Apparating as soon as he reached the hallway.

The house was half destroyed and overgrown with ivy. There was no way inside – rubble and thicket were blocking the path. If Harry was here, he had to be nearby. _If_ he was here. Coming here had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Maybe Harry was visiting their graves instead? Or maybe he wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and his bad memories, and wasn’t in Godric’s Hollow at all.

A shiver ran down Draco’s whole body, but it had nothing to do with the scenery. He suddenly realised he had left his coat. He couldn’t summon the strength to cast a warming charm.

Draco turned on the spot, listening for a sign of Harry. He was surely wearing his Invisibility Cloak. The night was silent other than the occasional creaks that emitted from the ruin of the cottage.

And then there were footsteps – more than one person – coming towards him at an alarming rate. Draco turned to face them, drawing his wand at the same time.

A group of small children, all of them costumed and laughing, rounded the corner and shot past him, some of them looking back at him curiously. None of them so much as glanced at the ruin.

He slipped his wand back into his sleeve and sat down on the kerb.

Draco was all out of ideas. Harry could be anywhere and he had no strong clue as to where that was. How was he supposed to find somebody who was invisible, who had managed to evade the Dark Lord for years?

If only Draco had tried his hand at the Patronus. Then he could send it to Harry with a message he couldn’t just ignore, tell him to please get in touch. Provided he wasn’t surrounded by Muggles of course.

He really should’ve paid more attention to Harry in the last days. Or maybe stopped to think for a single second, use his brain.

Draco leaned back on his hands and tilted his head back, groaning in frustration.

There was another set of footsteps approaching, slower this time. Draco turned to look in the direction the sound came from, squinting into the darkness. Just when it sounded like the person must be close enough to see, the footsteps stopped suddenly. There was nobody in sight.

Draco’s heart was beating excitedly. That had to be him, right?

“You can pretend not to be here if you want,” Draco said silently, looking at the sky again. “I’ll leave in a minute.”

Nobody answered.

Draco was just starting to wonder if he had maybe misinterpreted the noise, when somebody sat down on his right and put an arm around his shoulders. A silvery veil descended before his eyes.

“Did Hermione tell you?”

“No,” Draco said simply. He wasn’t planning on telling Harry how he had ended up here.

They were silent for several minutes during which Harry stroked Draco’s arm with his fingertips. Draco watched their shoes, which were sticking out from under the Cloak.

“You are freezing,” said Harry reproachfully.

Draco turned to look at him. “You are no warmer than me.”

“My point exactly,” argued Harry. His eyes slid from Draco’s to somewhere near his hairline, and his eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” asked Draco. Harry touched a hand to Draco’s forehead and it came away smudged with paint.

“Ah, shit,” Draco cussed, starting to rub at his forehead with his sleeve. “Merlin, this is really inappropriate.”

He checked the sleeve to see how much of his fake scar had come off.

“Is that my favourite sweater?” asked Harry suspiciously, eyes narrowed at the stain.

Draco froze. Why did he have the feeling he was making this so much worse?

“Sorry I’m such an insensitive arse,” Draco groaned. He tried to wriggle his wand arm free from where it was sandwiched between their bodies, but Harry seized it roughly.

The air constricted around them suddenly, one, two, three times and they finally landed on the hallway floor with a crack. Harry rolled on top of him before Draco could so much as orient himself, pinning his wrists to the floor with one hand, and kissed him hard.

Well, Draco definitely wasn’t cold anymore.


	48. Through to You [Tuesday, November 1st 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everybody who left comments: Fan, OrangeColouredPencils, Fandomwarriorqueen, illindalenti, Slytherinz_Ghost, Justforthedead, filidoune, XOX_Eternity_XOX, ThatBoringOne, Zezily and Qrainee! <3 
> 
> You guys are the best and always manage to make my day so much better! 😊

Draco got up at the nick of dawn. Harry was sleeping like a log, but Draco’s mind was racing.

His search for Harry really had made him think. There had been no way to contact him instantly, if only to tell him that Draco would be waiting for him to come home. Owl post took time and, just as the Protean, could be easily ignored. You couldn’t exactly stop a Patronus from relaying its message.

He thought about going down into the dining room, but then decided against it. Sure, it was farther away from the bedroom, but it was also cold and sterile. If Draco was honest, it reminded him of the Manor, which certainly wasn’t a place of happy memories.

He soundproofed the sitting room, sat down on the couch in front of the fire place (which was burning like always) and concentrated. What was his happiest memory? He considered the moment he had realised that the Dark Lord was dead, but that was too closely related to his worst memories. Better play it safe.

He finally decided on their first date. He had definitely been happy when Harry really kissed him for the first time, without any misunderstandings or deceit. He pictured the scene in his mind – twigs in Harry’s hair, the door against Draco’s back, his cold hands on his shoulder and hip.

“ _Expecto Patronum._ ”

Something silvery fizzled out of the tip of his wand and Draco nearly dropped it in surprise. He forgot to focus on his memory and the mist evaporated.

Well, that still had been easier than anticipated. Draco had never even gotten that far until now.

But Draco’s initial euphoria quickly vanished. After an hour of practice, he still hadn’t managed anything even slightly more solid than that. He had tried different memories (an unsurprisingly high number of which were sex-related and every single one of which featured Harry), but none of them seemed to do it. Draco didn’t understand. He couldn’t imagine having memories that were happier than the ones he chose. There were some pretty damn happy ones in there, for fuck’s sake!

“ _Expecto fucking Patronum!_ ” Draco demanded, hardly thinking of a memory at all anymore.

Nothing happened if you didn’t count Harry _laughing_ at him unexpectedly. He climbed over the back of the sofa and sat down beside Draco, draping one arm around his shoulders and kissing his cheek.

“No luck?”

Draco grumbled and leaned into his embrace. “Looks like my Patronus is a demanding little _bitch_.”

“You’re probably not thinking about the right things,” Harry said quite unhelpfully.

“No, believe me, I’ve definitely got some good memories.” Draco threw his wand on the coffee table. He was frustrated and also horny from reliving all those sex scenes.

“I could help you make another one.”

Draco didn’t have to be asked twice. He turned to Harry and pushed him until he was lying on his back, Draco between his legs.

“Fine,” he said with a grin. “But this time, you’re it. I’ll definitely need a few days after yesterday.”

Harry just grinned back, completely unimpressed. “Could’ve stopped me.”

As if Draco had the mental strength to resist him.

~o~

“What do you think it’ll be?”

“Probably a _flubberworm_ or something,” Draco said dejectedly.

“Who knows, maybe it’s something _cool_.” Harry, who was lying behind Draco, tightened his arms around Draco. “Like a ferret.”

Draco tried to ram his elbow into Harry, but his arms were pressed so tightly to his body that he found it impossible. “Thanks, _Violet._ ”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Don’t call me a ferret, then.”

“I called your _Patronus_ a ferret.”

“You _know_ what you meant!”

“Sorry.” Harry laughed and locked him in place with just one arm. Then he leaned over Draco (nearly crushing him) and rummaged through the pocket of his jeans, which were lying on the floor beside the sofa. “Here, have a Snitch.”

Draco wriggled a hand free to take the Chocolate Snitch. When he opened the box, the Snitch flew out at once and circled their heads.

“You let it get away!”

Draco scoffed. “You think I want your _pocket chocolate_?”

“Yeah.”

“No.” Draco watched as Harry snatched the Snitch out of the air, and then checked the card. “Look, I got my favourite Seeker.”

Harry leaned forward so he could look over Draco’s shoulder. “That’s Tim McCarthy,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” said Draco seriously. “I think I’ll put that in my wallet.”

Harry bit his neck and Draco squealed (manly) and pushed him away with a hand against his forehead. Harry grabbed both his wrists from behind and pressed them against Draco’s chest, whispering into his ear, “Your Patronus is definitely gonna be a backstabbing little bitch. What’s the animal for that?”

“You’re the Patronus expert, not me. I’m starting to have my doubts about your teaching abilities, if I’m being honest.”

Harry pushed him off the couch.

~o~

“I’m sorry! I _swear_ I didn’t do that on purpose.” Harry was kneeling between Draco’s legs in front of the couch, turning Draco’s head so the sun illuminated his temple properly.

“Wait ‘til I tell people that you gave me a black eye,” said Draco with a devious grin.

Harry groped at the coffee table for his wand. “That’s not even your eye, you moron. I thought you were supposed to know a thing or two about anatomy?”

Draco pushed Harry’s shoulder, causing him to drop his wand so he could brace himself with both arms behind his back. “ _‘Harry Potter inflicts serious head laceration on Hero Healer Draco Malfoy!’._ Witch Weekly will eat that up. I’ll write a book and retire.”

“I’m seriously considering bashing your head against the coffee table a second time,” said Harry bluntly, picking up his wand again. “Nobody could blame me. I’ll just tell them what an irritating little twat you are.”

“As if,” said Draco. “You do know you’ve got a very well documented anger management problem?”

Harry pointed his wand at Draco, who moved his head out of range immediately. “Don’t point that thing at me.”

“Sure! Do you want me to heal your head wandlessly? You may want to hold on to it.” 

Draco laughed. “The hell you will. You may conjure a mirror for me so I can do it myself.”

“Don’t you think I can manage a minor healing spell?” Harry asked with a pout.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Seeing as you’re always covered in bruises you never even bother to get rid of …”

“That’s a choice!”

“Not really an indicator for great healing qualities.”

“I’m fully capable –”

“I just think these intricate spells aren’t really your strong suit. You’re more the blast-things-apart type.”

“Hey, _my_ pancakes never once ended up on the ceiling, unlike other people’s.”

“My _face_ is not a pancake.”

Harry rolled his eyes and sat back. “So, what you’re saying is that you don’t trust me to heal a small bruise?”

“Well …”

“At one point in my life I was on the run for nine months straight! What do you think we did when one of us got injured? Breezed in at St. Mungo’s?”

“You didn’t look all that peaky when we met at the Manor. You were a hot mess, to be honest.”

Harry raised his wand again and Draco squeezed his eyes shut automatically. He planned to at least keep his eyesight if Harry fucked this up. There was a very faint whoosh, but nothing else happened. Draco peeked through his lashes. Harry had put his wand away and was opening a jar of arnica.

“I hope you feel ashamed,” said Harry as he began to dab the essence onto Draco’s temple. “Such a _blatant_ lack of trust.”

“Are you trying to _shame_ me for not letting you heal the injury _you_ gave me?”

Harry ignored that part and leaned back to examine his temple. Apparently satisfied with his work, he closed the jar and put it on the coffee table. “You _could_ teach me some minor healing spells, you know? Could come in handy at practice when there’s no Healer present.”

Draco flicked Harry’s forehead. “You’re only supposed to heal yourself in cases of _acute_ emergency. And that means life or death situations.”

“Wow, do you really trust me so little?” Harry faked a hurt look and pressed a hand against his own chest.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Alright, here is how it works.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth. Well, apparently there was a first for everything.

Draco launched into his explanation, which was basically what he told every single one of his Trainee Healers on their first day.

“Even without any assistance, we heal faster than Muggles, because our magic acts as a kind of defence against injuries and illnesses. Every time you cast a spell, you use up some of your magic, which takes time to regenerate. Now, if you’re injured, your magic will _already_ be chipped in the first place. So, by casting a healing spell, you give your body a very small boost, but _hinder_ your recovery in the long run. That’s why you should only heal very, _very_ small injuries yourself, or the ones that would kill you straightaway if you didn’t do something.”

Harry looked down at his stomach and pointed at the spot where the Lightning Blast’s footrest had impaled him months ago. “So that would have been a _‘No’_?”

Draco brushed over the scar with his fingertips. “Definitely. When the blood comes gushing out, _that’s_ when you’re allowed to heal yourself. And only when there’s _nobody_ else who can do it.”

“Noted.” Harry clapped his hands once, very suddenly, and got to his feet. “Shall we get started, then?”

“Start ... what?”

“Your Patronus lessons. What else?” Harry put his t-shirt back on and grinned down at him.

“And by _‘lessons’_ you mean ...?”

Harry’s grin widened as he pointed up at the attic. “I’ll go get the chest down here.”

Draco shook his head in silent refusal. “No way. I already told you –”

“All you _really_ told me is that you’re too scared to try,” said Harry exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “But _that’s_ what the Patronus is about! Finding something good inside yourself, something to hold on to even when you’re afraid.”

“Don’t act so high and mighty,” said Draco irritably. “ _You’re_ no better than me. We can talk when you’re ready to work on some of your own fears.”

Why did they always have to go there again? They kept going in circles, and Draco was tired of it.

“Fine,” said Harry hotly, grabbing his jeans and storming out.

By the sound of it, he was putting them on while he went. Draco really hoped he wouldn’t stumble and fall down the stairs. He thought about following him to make sure, but then decided against it and got dressed instead. If he didn’t give Harry his space now, they’d surely end up fighting.

He was just pondering what to do next, when Harry suddenly stormed back in and pointed his wand at Draco, whose mind did an instantaneous backflip in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked pointedly, pushing the wand aside so it wasn’t directed at his chest anymore.

“ _Take_ it!” Harry’s voice was harsh and impatient. He pointed it back at Draco.

Only then did Draco realise that Harry was holding his wand the wrong way round, offering it up to him. It also _wasn’t_ Harry’s phoenix wand. It was Draco’s first one, hawthorn and unicorn hair.

“What for?”

“It’s yours. I should’ve given it back to you _years_ ago.” Harry seemed angry, though Draco couldn’t say who he was angry at.

“It’s not mine,” said Draco. “You won it from me, which makes it _yours_.”

Harry shook the wand, like he was suddenly anxious to be rid of it. “We both know it recognises you too.”

Draco took a step back, shaking his head. That was the wand that had killed the Dark Lord. Now that he was aware of the fact, he didn’t think he could ever touch it again.

“I don’t want it.”

“Draco, I’m _trying_ here!” Harry sounded desperate now, like he was _this_ close to completely losing it. “I’m really trying to change something, but I can’t do it without you, so _please_ take it!”

Before he could think about it, Draco snatched it away from Harry, who dropped down onto the arm of the couch, obviously relieved. Draco looked down at the wand in his hand. It didn’t feel any different than the last time he had held it, but at the same time he felt like throwing it across the room, preferably into the fireplace.

Draco drew his own, new wand and pointed it at the hawthorn one, encasing it in a wooden frame and then sealing it with a pane of glass. He plucked it out of the air and used his wand a second time to fix the frame to the wall right next to the fireplace. As he sat down on the other arm rest, he felt oddly light, like he had solved a problem he hadn’t been aware of until now.

They both stared at the hawthorn wand for a minute, saying nothing. Then Draco slid sideways onto the couch itself and leaned his head back so he could look up at Harry.

“Now I understand why my parents did it. Hide all these dangerous artefacts behind glass, I mean.” He took a deep breath. “Feels almost liberating to seal _that_ away.”

Harry frowned down at him. “ _Do_ you see it as a dangerous artefact?”

Draco shrugged. “That wand was the Dark Lord’s downfall.”

“It’s just a wand.” Harry dropped down next to him and stroked his arm. “But I still like it up there. Reminds me that there’s something else to it than just a means of defence.”

“What’s that?”

Harry smiled. “We’re both masters of that wand. If a magical object like that thinks that there’s something connecting us, then what in the world could keep us apart, really?”

Draco laughed and flicked the lightning scar fondly. “You’re absolutely mental.”

Harry grinned back at him. “Then you must be mental for choosing me, right?”

Draco could feel the grin spread across his whole face just as Harry seemed to realise what he had kicked off.

“Well, how could I _not_ choose –”

“Don’t you dare say it!”

“– the Chosen One?”

Harry groaned, threw his hands up in exasperation, and got to his feet. “Fine, if you _choose_ to go there, then _I_ _choose_ to hold you to your end of the bargain. Get up.”

“What? No!”

Harry pointed an accusing finger at him and picked up his wand. “You owe it to me to at least try. I earned that. I’ll get the chest. You can make room.”

Three minutes later, the damned chest was standing right next to the fireplace, and they were standing in the middle of the room, all the furniture pushed up against the walls.

“Alright, we’ll do a few preliminary exercises first. There’s no point bringing in the boggart before you’ve managed the basics.”

Draco lowered his wand. “I don’t really see why we need one at all. Won’t that just make it unnecessarily hard?”

Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and brought it back up into casting position. “Don’t question my teaching methods, Malfoy. The boggart is for proper motivation.”

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Less talking, more practicing. Also, that’s five points from Slytherin. For the disrespect.”

Draco snorted with laughter. “It’s finally happened. The power’s gone to your head.”

“Quit distracting. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Harry gestured at Draco with his wand, which was definitely not proper wand etiquette. “Wand a little higher, you want it to be level with your heart. Now concentrate on a happy memory. None of that trivial stuff – just go all in straightaway.”

Draco took stock of himself, trying to decide on his happiest memory.

Harry poked his shoulder disapprovingly. “Close your eyes. You’re staring at it like it’s gonna go up in flames any second.”

“I don’t trust you not to let that thing loose the second I look away,” said Draco tensely. “Sink or swim seems like your kind of teaching style.”

“I _promise_ not to open it without a warning. Now close your eyes and picture your memory.”

Draco sighed dramatically as he did what he was told. Problem was: he was nowhere near to picking a sufficient memory. Their first date was a good one in and of itself, but Draco was very aware that it had only produced a pathetic amount of mist. Maybe the night when Harry had kissed him in front of all his friends? Problem was, Draco had been just as embarrassed as he’d been happy about that. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take just one aspect of the memory.

Draco finally settled on his last birthday. The first half of it _had_ been a disaster, what with the Tornados catching the Snitch mere seconds into the game, but the rest of the day had been rather good. There’d been a surprise party at the Burrow. For _him_. Mrs. Weasley had cooked everything he liked and even made him a new sweater. Draco elected to forget about the homophobic lady they’d met at the video store and especially about _‘Finding Nemo’_ , which really had no business being marketed to children. But the other movie had been entertaining, and the walk home had been perfect.

Draco tried to remember what he’d felt when Harry had Apparated him to the Burrow and everybody had been waiting for him.

“Alright,” said Draco calmly, keeping his eyes closed. “I’m going to try, so don’t you _dare_ let that thing out.”

He heard Harry take a step back and say, “Quit thinking about it. You’re supposed to concentrate.”

“Remember when I tried to help with your physical therapy and you claimed you couldn’t concentrate with your eyes closed and me there?”

Out of the blue, Harry pushed his shoulder. Draco staggered back, but then Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him in before he could fall. Draco pushed him back, heart racing, but Harry stood firm, grinning at him deviously.

“You deserved that,” he said assertively. “You should _definitely_ trust me more than I trusted you last year. Also, _you_ let me fall, which, let me point out, I didn’t.”

Draco just pulled his arm away and then stepped as far away from him as possible, which meant the wall was now at his back. “Let’s get this over with.”

He closed his eyes again, raised his wand and, before Harry could make any more questionable teaching decisions, said firmly, “Expecto Patronum.”

“ _Good_ ,” said Harry enthusiastically. “Look at it!”

Draco’s heart picked up speed. It couldn’t be _that_ easy, right? Harry told him to do it and just like that, Draco managed to produce a Patronus?

Disappointment washed over him when he opened his eyes and saw only the same faint mist he’d already produced on his own. “That’s pathetic.”

Harry waved Draco’s complaint away. “That’s really good. You can’t expect a corporal Patronus right away.”

The mist dispersed and Draco lowered his wand. “So, what am I supposed to do with that? I can’t send a cloud of mist to deliver a massage.”

“You just have to keep practicing.” Harry seemed really motivated. He gestured over to the chest. “Let’s see how you do with the boggart.”

Draco made a face. “I don’t know. What good is that tiny bit of mist going to be against a _dementor_?”

Harry didn’t offer up any encouragement. “I’m going to let it out and you’ll try to keep it up, alright?”

“ _No?_ ”

But Harry, standing in the middle of the room, was already pointing his wand at the chest. The lid sprung open and out rose a very real looking dementor, its robes floating around it. The temperature dropped instantly and Harry took several steps back, coming to stand just in front of Draco. His shoulders were tense and he was clenching his fists.

“Draco!” Harry grabbed Draco’s free hand and squeezed it. His fingers were ice cold and trembling.

Draco raised his wand, but his head was empty. He couldn’t remember the memory. Truth was, he had _never_ been happy and he wasn’t _ever_ going to be. This wasn’t meant to last.

The dementor stretched out a hand and floated over in their direction.

“ _Draco_ ,” said Harry in a whisper. His breath came out in hectic white clouds. The hand around Draco’s felt like that of a dead man.

Draco shook his head. His wand was no longer raised but held loosely at his side. He could barely hear his own voice. It didn’t matter anyway. What good was trying anyway? Draco would never manage a Patronus. And even if he did – Harry hadn’t told him where he had gone for a reason. Maybe he hadn’t wanted Draco to find him. A Patronus wouldn’t change that.

“I can’t.”

Harry, now backed against the wall right beside him, raised his own wand. The dementor flickered – its robes became more solid and for a split second, it seemed like it had a face.

And Harry took a sudden step forward and said, voice unexpectedly clear and determined, “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

The stag charged at once, throwing the dementor back with its antlers and then pushing it until it vanished into the chest, which snapped shut at once. The stag was gone not a second later.

Draco dropped down to his knees at once. His legs felt like they were made of jelly and he was freezing. Harry slid down the wall until he was sitting next to him, legs drawn against his torso and wand still pointed at the boggart chest.

“I’m _not_ doing that again,” said Draco after a while. His voice sounded oddly flat.

Harry just shook his head and said nothing for a few more minutes. When he finally turned to look at Draco, there was no life in his eyes.

“Maybe the boggart was a bad idea. You’re not the type who needs to be threatened with a Dragon in order to master a summoning charm. We should ... we should just stick to practicing without it. Maybe we can bring it in later, when you’ve managed a corporal Patronus. As a test.”

Draco nodded. He was glad that they weren’t broaching the topic of his boggart (even though he was sure that Harry had noticed it) or Draco’s inability to perform when it mattered.

~o~

Draco poked at his pasta while casting around for a stronger memory. He had plenty of time to think during lunch, but nothing really powerful came to mind.

The only thing that happened was that he realised how often they seemed to fight. Was that healthy? And if it wasn’t, what then? They would _never_ be able to just stop fighting. Draco didn’t even know if he _wanted_ the fighting to stop. He kind of liked it. He especially liked the reconciliations that usually followed.

“Draco,” said Harry suddenly. He wasn’t eating either. Maybe he had ruined his appetite eating all those Chocolate Snitches after the boggart stunt. “Are you still thinking of a memory?”

“What else would I be doing?” said Draco drily.

“Well, it looks like you’re trying to solve some kind of riddle in your head. Come on, no side-tracking. Either the memory is good or it isn’t.”

Draco shook his head and formed a pasta mountain in the middle of his plate. “There aren’t exactly many to choose from.”

Harry breathed out heavily but didn’t say anything. Draco decided to just try the night when he’d told Harry that he loved him and they’d kissed in an alley (after Harry had kicked his arse, but it seemed that Draco would have to dissect his memories after all).

He pushed his plate away and picked up his wand. Harry turned to watch him, looking somewhat relieved.

“ _Expecto Patronum_.”

A tiny cloud of mist trickled out, barely visible in the bright sunlight and Draco was overcome with desperation. He was actually getting _worse_! He had trouble focusing his thoughts, because they kept slipping back to the sitting room. But then Harry put his hand on Draco’s shoulder unexpectedly and gave him an encouraging smile.

“That’s still good. Try to focus more on the memory. Imagine you’re reliving it.”

“I’m doing something wrong,” said Draco, dropping his wand in frustration. “Maybe it’s the motion? Show me again.”

Harry obviously didn’t think that it was the motion, but he still did as asked. The stag emerged, blindingly strong, and pranced through the kitchen. Draco felt his heart lift at the sight. He raised his wand again and cast while Harry’s Patronus kept circling them.

At first Draco thought he was imagining it, but then Harry squeezed his shoulder and he knew he saw it too. The mist was getting thicker and brighter. But no matter how hard Draco concentrated, it didn’t change further than that.

“That’s alright.” Harry gave him a glowing look and a soft smile. “Just practice whenever you have some time to yourself. Think of some more memories, so you can switch between them if you notice one isn’t strong enough. We’ll get there eventually.”

Well, at least _one_ of them was confident.


	49. To the Sky [Saturday, November 12th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much: hitomu, Fandomwarriorqueen, WildvanillaRose, SHkatty, Superfan1224, AlluraBelle, illindalenti, Slytherinz_Ghost, serilla, Fan, ThatBoringOne, filidoune, XOX_Eternity_XOX and slowisthewayweburn! 😊  
> Updating twice a day won’t be a regular occurrence, because I’d run out of proof-read chapters, but I’ll keep doing it for short chapters (or maybe mean cliffhangers 😉).  
> About the Dark Mark: JK allegedly said in an interview that the Mark faded to a scar after V’s defeat, so that’s what Draco has now.

Draco awoke to sunshine streaming through the enormous window in Harry’s bedroom and his half of the bed empty. It was also warm, but since the sun was burning, that didn’t mean much.

“Harry?” Draco called, pushing away the blanket.

It had gotten rather hot during the night, but what else was new? This was Harry’s house, after all. It would still be hot in here even during the deepest winter.

“In here!”

Draco followed his voice and found Harry inside his clothes closet, holding up two Gryffindor scarves.

“Are you finally throwing these out?” Draco asked hopefully. “It is pretty unlikely that you’ll go back to get your NEWTs.”

“Dream on, Malfoy.” Harry grinned. “You don’t have _that_ much influence on me.”

Draco took one of the scarves and slung it around Harry’s neck, pulling him in closer. “I like to think otherwise.”

Harry kissed him softly, but only for a second. He draped the second scarf around Draco’s neck and said, “Unfortunately, I don’t have time.”

“Of course you do.” Draco put both hands on Harry’s hips, which were quite unfairly already hidden underneath jeans and one of his many scarlet sweaters. “What could be more important than me on a Saturday? There is no practice on the weekends and matches are only on Sundays.”

“Not at Hogwarts, they aren’t.”

“Is that where you’re going?”

“You could come,” Harry said, straightening Draco’s scarf. “It’s Gryffindor against Slytherin and you’re already dressed appropriately.”

“Ha ha,” Draco said drily. He took the scarf off and tried to put it on a random shelf.

Harry took it from him, folded it neatly and put it in one of his many, many boxes. Draco didn’t know _how_ he could keep track of where what went, but there was obviously a system in place.

“You know what? I _will_ accompany you,” Draco said, reaching for an emerald green box. “But only because I’ve been waiting for an excuse to borrow this.”

He took the silky emerald scarf (the one with the lightning bolt signature made from unicorn hair) out of its box and put it on. It felt cool and smooth against his skin and Draco knew he would need a very strong incentive to take it off again. Maybe if Harry took off all of his clothes first. Maybe.

“Suits you,” Harry said, looking him up and down. “Goes great with your pants.”

“Thanks,” Draco simply said. “That scarf is wasted on you, honestly. I’d like to know who thought it would be a good idea to give that to you. There’s an excellent facility for brain damage at St. Mungo’s.”

Harry grabbed him around the thighs, lifted him up swiftly and, before Draco could do so much as take a startled breath, carried him the few steps into the bedroom, where he dropped Draco onto the bed and himself on top of him.

Harry did have some time for him after all. He didn’t insist that Draco take off the scarf.

~o~

They were sitting on either side of Professor McGonagall. They hadn’t even talked about it beforehand – sitting next to each other here, in public, would have been too much. They were getting plenty of looks already (Harry probably a bit more than Draco) and Draco was feeling kind of paranoid. To him, Harry’s hair seemed even more rumbled than usual. He felt like the whole world must be able to see it for what it was – Harry looked like he had just stumbled out of bed.

Two Chasers shot past them and directed Draco’s attention back to the match, which was just plain ridiculous. It seemed that Harry’s presence had a certain effect on the teenagers: The Chasers did unnecessary loopings and trick-shots. One of the Beaters let out battle cries every time he wacked a Bludger (which served as a great warning system for all the other players). The Gryffindor Seeker shot through the tiniest gaps between players, even with no Snitch in sight. And the Slytherin Keeper hoovered in front of her goal posts with only one hand on her broom, the other placed on her hip casually.

The match was also quite brutal for a non-league match. Maybe the players thought this would be the easiest way to impress somebody who played for the Falmouth Falcons, whose motto called for breaking some heads, after all. They seemed to forget that the Falcons’ players almost never got penalties – they had mastered the art of rule-abiding brutality, even if just barely.

The Hogwarts players were just going for it, shoving and elbowing each other. Madame Hooch’s mouth must have been dry from shouting so much after only half an hour. The players didn’t even seem to register her lectures; they just kept glancing over at Harry.

“Well, Harry,” said McGonagall resolutely. “Maybe next time bring your Invisibility Cloak. Madam Pomfrey will certainly be busy today.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said with a grimace. “But you know Slytherin’s never been known to play fair.”

“The Gryffindors are just as bad, Potter,” Draco said with an incredulous look.

“Meh.”

Draco didn’t know if there would have been more, because that was when the Gryffindors emphasised Draco’s point for him.

The Slytherin Seeker ducked as the Gryffindor Beater swung her bat at him. Matthew Greyson’s daughter, who was flying directly behind him, was hit in the face instead. She was thrown off her broom and crashed onto one of the Gryffindor Chasers, who was flying underneath her. The Chaser managed to hold onto her motionless body and carry her safely to the ground.

Draco didn’t have to push his way through the stands, because the crowd parted to let him through. Draco wanted to think that this was out of respect for emergency wizards, but years at St. Mungo’s had taught him otherwise. They were probably more awestruck by Harry, who was sprinting down the stairs right beside him.

The Gryffindor players let them through as well, and they dropped to their knees on either side of Greyson, who was still unresponsive. Harry grabbed her wrist. Draco cast a spell to assess the damage. The responsible Beater was full out sobbing and gasping for air.

“It’s alright. She’s just unconscious,” Draco said loudly to keep the girl from entering into a panic attack. He glanced at the name emblazoned on her robes and then pointed at the boy who was standing beside her. “Please take Ms. Pierce to the hospital wing.”

To Draco’s surprise, the boy didn’t argue and led Pierce away with one arm around her shoulder. Draco healed Greyson’s broken nose and jaw bone and then cast a _Renervate_.

Greyson’s eyes flew open. Her hand shot upwards and she grabbed Harry’s shoulder, who flinched massively. There was a sharp crack like static and she let go instantly. Both of them were pushed apart. Greyson’s upper body connected with the ground again. Harry managed to stay upright on his knees just so.

“Oh fuck!” Harry said, leaning forward and grabbing both of her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Kate! Are you okay?”

“Great going, Potter,” Draco snorted. “Maybe you should become a Healer.”

“Harry?” Greyson said confusedly, squinting up at him. “What are you doing here?”

She seemed to notice his hands on her shoulder and turned bright red. Harry took his hands back, probably taking it as a sign that he was making her uncomfortable.

“That would be the concussion,” Draco said to cover the awkwardness. “Let’s take her to the hospital wing. Some rest should do the trick.”

Greyson only seemed to notice him now. She turned her head slowly and narrowed her eyes at him. “Malfoy?”

“Hello, Katherine. You took a bat to the face, but don’t worry. I already healed your bones and you’ll be as good as new by tomorrow.”

She continued to stare at him for a few seconds without showing any signs of having heard him. She stretched out her arm again, but instead of Harry she grabbed onto Draco’s scarf.

“So pretty,” she said slowly. “Where’d you get that?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said off-handedly. “It was a present. We’ll float you to the castle now, alright?”

But she didn’t let go and only squinted at him some more. “I don’t like you.”

“I don’t care,” Draco said, rolling his eyes and pointing his wand at her again.

“Don’t point that thing at me!” she hissed. Her grip on his scarf tightened and then she gave him a shove that didn’t really do anything.

“Fine,” Draco said. “Should Potter do it instead?”

But she just turned slightly redder and only nodded the tiniest bit. Draco glanced at Harry.

“ _Your_ turn.”

The whole team went along as they took Greyson up to the castle. The other two Chasers were attempting to talk to her, but all of them seemed very distracted, glancing at Harry at irregular intervals.

It was a massive commotion. The Slytherin players followed close behind and the rest of the students were already leaving the stands, meaning they would probably catch up soon.

“Hope you brought your best quill, Potter,” said Draco as a means of preparing him for what was to come.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and winced. Draco didn’t comment on the increase of speed, even though they were bordering on jogging up the slope now.

Madam Pomfrey was already waiting for them at the hospital wing. And she was _not_ happy to see them.

“Absolutely not!” she said resolutely as their procession of two full Quidditch teams (minus the two players Draco had sent ahead) arrived at her doors. “Any student who wants to get in here had better be _bleeding_. Malfoy, Potter, take her inside please.”

Harry floated Greyson inside and Pomfrey closed the door behind them firmly. Pierce and her teammate were sitting next to each other on a bed at the windowfront. When they came in, the boy started rummaging through the pockets of his Quidditch robes frantically. Harry placed his charge on a free bed further away from the doors, probably already anticipating the moment the boy managed to locate a quill.

“Thank you, Potter. Care to help, Healer Malfoy?”

Pomfrey drew the curtains closed as soon as he nodded, leaving Harry alone on the other side with the two Gryffindors.

“Er … Mr. Potter, Sir?” came the girl’s voice from further away. “We were wondering …”

Draco didn’t find out what they were wondering, because then he was telling Madam Pomfrey what he’d already done to fix Greyson and for the next ten minutes they were busy examining Greyson a second time and discussing some of the newer treatment techniques (which didn’t necessarily have anything to do with Greyson, who was sleeping tightly).

When they finally drew back the curtain, Pomfrey nearly had a stroke. And who could blame her?

Harry was sitting atop the footboard of Pierce’s bed, two (almost) complete Quidditch teams grouped around him and hanging on his lips. Every single one of them was bleeding – some had cuts across their cheeks, some had nosebleeds, some were pressing tissues to their split lips.

But the strangest thing was this: Harry seemed genuinely contend with the situation, which maybe had something to do with the fact that he was in the middle of narrating every single one of the manoeuvres he had employed against the dragon during the Triwizard Tournament. Nobody was holding a quill.

“Malfoy!” Harry waved him over enthusiastically and waited until he was leaning against the footboard of the next bed over. Pomfrey just threw her hands up in surrender and barricaded herself in her office.

“Remember when you used that spiral dive in fifth year and two Bludgers just barely missed you?”

Draco grinned. “They nearly knocked you off, though.”

“Yeah.” Harry was grinning as well. “I’ve always wondered, how did you manage that twist at the end?”

“You want me to describe a move that I did ten years ago?” Truth was, Draco’s hand had slipped. Not that he would _ever_ admit that.

“Right,” said Harry, sounding a little disappointed. But then his brows unfurled and he jumped to his feet, actually clapping his hands. “We should go down to the pitch and try it!”

None of the students had to be asked twice. And that was how they ended up spending a whole Saturday afternoon on the Hogwarts pitch, trying out increasingly complicated moves and re-enacting various scenes from their matches at Hogwarts (Draco’s rendition of what became known as _‘The Saviour’s Snitch Swallowing’_ was a great hit).

The event ended when McGonagall came down half an hour before curfew and herded the majority of the Hogwarts population (word had certainly spread fast) back into the castle.

Draco gave his Patronus another go that night, picturing hundreds of students looking up at him with admiration instead of disgust, none of them caring about his past, all of them just excited to see them go toe to toe with each other – him and Harry, who wasn’t the Chosen One but just a brilliant Quidditch player.

His Patronus didn’t take shape, but Harry insisted that the mist was more compact at its centre. In the end, Draco decided to take his word for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super excited for the next one!


	50. Welcome to the Apocalypse [Sunday, November 20th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody who commented: thank you so much! 😊 I love reading all your comments, especially if you tell me what you liked, but even just an emoji is very much appreciated!  
> Zezily, hitomu, Slytherinz_Ghost, Superfan1224, filidoune, Fan, Justforthedead, WildvanillaRose, ThatBoringOne, serilla, illindalenti, SHkatty, Fandomwarriorqueen, XOX_Eternity_XOX and allhailthehales – you guys are the best! <3

Draco shot up and nearly brained himself on the bunk bed above. There was a BANG as the person sleeping higher up fell down the ladder. Draco grabbed Nash’s arms and pulled her to her feet. Then he looked down at his hospital badge, which had woken him up. It was still hot and showing the letters _‘TR’_ , which stood for the Trauma Ward.

They made it down there in under a minute, though Draco didn’t know why they had hurried. Their patients were two twenty-one-year-olds who had participated in a drunken game of Quidditch. It was half past one in the morning and he had to wake up for some brainless idiots? They were even laughing about it with their idiotic friends, who were clearly drunk as well.

The patient in bed seven was pressing a bloody hanky against her forehead. The one in bed eight had a footrest sticking out of his left arm.

Nash and Draco looked at each other. “ _Arm!_ ” they called out at the same time. Draco shook his wand out of his sleeve and jabbed it at the name that stood next to bed number eight on the list: Euan Abercrombie. Nash groaned and took the other one – Rose Zeller.

Draco grinned at her and then made his way over. He plonked himself down on his examination chair and rolled over to Abercrombie’s left side.

“Alright, Mr. Abercrombie. My name is Draco Malfoy and I’m your Healer.”

One bed over, Rose Zeller giggled and blushed, which couldn’t help with her bleeding head lac. She was looking at him, completely ignoring her own Healer. “You work for the Falcons.”

“Yes.”

Zeller exchanged a look with two of her girl friends and now all of them giggled. “So … is Harry Potter single?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Draco returned his attention to Abercrombie and cast _Corpus Inspicio_ to get a clearer idea of his injury. “Let’s have a look at your arm. Anything I need to know before we start?”

The metal rod had nicked the artery, which wasn’t that good. But it was also positioned just _right so_ that the artery couldn’t start leaking. Healing it shouldn’t be too complicated – some Blood-Replenishing Potion and a few quick spells should do the trick.

“I was in Gryffindor with Potter.”

“Not what I was asking about, but okay.” Draco ended his spell.

It seemed that Gryffindors and footrests didn’t go that well together. Draco cut the sleeve of Abercrombie’s shirt open and inspected the wound. There was a jagged scar where the footrest had entered his body.

“Did this happen to you before?” Draco raised his eyebrows. He grabbed the chart on the cart, but it seemed that this was Abercrombie’s first visit to St. Mungo’s.

“Nah, that’s from, like, the war.”

Draco had a closer look, feeling the scar tissue with his gloved fingers. “What got you?”

Abercrombie just shrugged. “A curse or something. No big.” He glanced at Zeller, who was busy getting her head wound cleaned. This seemed to disappoint him greatly.

“‘ _No big’?_ ” Draco repeated. He had a bad feeling about this. “Didn’t you get that checked out?”

Abercrombie grinned like a drunken idiot. “What for? It doesn’t hurt and it looks kinda cool, right?”

Draco rolled his eyes and did his aura spell. There was a cluster of dark magic around the scar, but it was impossible to determine what kind of curse it was. He beckoned a mediwitch over to them. “I need a consult. Get someone from Curses.”

“May take a while,” the mediwitch said. “A group of Aurors came in an hour ago; they were in pretty bad shape.”

“ _Great._ ”

Draco sighed. It wasn’t that he was worried. Ron wasn’t on Auror duty at the moment, because Hermione was due any day now. And as long as the footrest stayed exactly where it was, there wasn’t any real risk for Abercrombie. He just wasn’t looking forward to having a group of drunk teens hanging around the Trauma Ward for hours.

“Looks like you’ll be here for a while,” he said to his patient, grabbing a roll of pressure bandages to immobilize the footrest. “Your friends should go home.”

“No way!” Abercrombie protested. “We still have to finish the game! It’s just a piece of metal. Just pull it out and get on with it!”

“ _No!_ ”

Draco lunched for his hand, but it was already too late – Abercrombie had grabbed the footrest and removed it from his upper arm in one swift motion. Blood started to gush out at once and Draco pressed the bandage, still rolled up, to the entry wound.

“Get me BRP and someone from Curses _stat_!” he yelled at the mediwitch without looking up from the fountain of blood. “ _Courtney!_ ”

People were yelling over each other, most of them in a state of complete panic. Draco completely blocked them out. He was focusing on the artery, channelling all of his magic into knitting it back together. Nash appeared at his side, casting _Corpus Inspicio_ at him and then herself, as Draco couldn’t stop casting his healing spell. Then she joined her magic to his.

It was bad – the artery just wouldn’t close. Something inside Abercrombie’s arm was working against them. He vaguely registered a mediwitch kicking the kids out. Another one was giving Abercrombie one vial of Blood-Replenishing Potion after the other, but the blood just kept gushing out right away, faster than the potion could work.

The flow stopped ten minutes later, because there was nothing left.

Nobody said anything for a moment. The only sound was the steady drip of blood hitting the floor and their ragged breathing.

“Time of death: 0213,” Nash said in a hollow voice. “Fuck!”

There was a crash and then the sound of instruments clanging against each other. Draco didn’t look to see what she had kicked. His eyes were still glued to Abercrombie’s arm. The scar stood out against his pale, bled out skin. Somebody grabbed his shoulder and he flinched.

“Are you alright?” Draco had no answer. Nash squeezed his shoulder weakly and then let go. “I’ll contact the family.”

Draco couldn’t breathe. His legs were shaking badly, but he couldn’t be there when Abercrombie’s family arrived. He just started walking in a random direction. His feet were wet and whenever he raised a foot there was a squishing sound. He tried not to think about it. Somebody bumped into him – or maybe he bumped into someone – and a girl called his name. Draco kept walking.

Somebody grabbed his shoulder again. This time, it was one of the mediwitches. She was talking to him, but Draco couldn’t understand a word, so he just shook his head. She handed him a green vial – Calming Potion – and Draco gulped it down. He didn’t feel calmer, but at least he could focus on her lips now.

“Can I fire-call someone to pick you up?” she asked. Her voice was quivering and she was covered in blood from the waist down. Draco didn’t want to think about how he must look.

He shook his head again. He needed Harry, but he couldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t be able to contact him anyway. He grabbed at his chest, which was sticky and wet. The tiny Golden Snitch grew hot under his fingers.

The mediwitch placed a hand on his back and gently guided him down a corridor. Draco just let it happen. He didn’t really care where he went, as long as it was away from that pool of blood. She opened a door and led him into a locker room. They stopped in front of one of the benches. Draco made no move to sit down, so she applied some pressure to his shoulder and he obliged. He looked down at his hands. They were still covered in his Healer’s gloves, which were charmed to repel all liquids. They looked way too clean and not at all how he felt.

“Just a second,” she said, making her way over to the door. “I’ll find a mediwizard to help you.”

Draco didn’t reply and she left with one last concerned look at him. The door wasn’t even fully closed when somebody called from further away.

“Malfoy! Where’s Draco Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, Healer Malfoy has taken the rest of the night off. I’ll find you another Healer.”

Draco should’ve gotten up to tell her it was alright, but there was no strength left in him. All he could do was stare at his completely sterile hands and listen.

“I don’t need a Healer; I need to find Draco! Is he alright?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter. I can’t tell you.” Maybe she had read _Witch Weekly_ and was expecting Harry to attack him.

Harry’s voice was getting harsher and louder with every syllable. “I know he’s here somewhere!”

There was a bang as the door crashed open and the mediwitch shrieked. Draco looked up and there he was – the Saviour of the Wizarding world, dressed in his favourite pyjama pants and one of Draco’s t-shirts. His hair was a mess and he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Mr. Potter, I’ll have to call sec-” the mediwitch started, but then Harry had pushed his way past her, dropping to his knees in front of Draco. She shut up as Harry took Draco’s face in both hands.

“What _happened_?” Draco could hear his own pain reflected in Harry’s voice. Harry’s eyes were roaming his body, searching for injuries.

Draco broke. He started crying, the pain travelling up from somewhere deep down inside his gut. It felt like his insides were trying to exit his body all at once, leaving him completely hollowed out. He couldn’t breathe.

Harry pulled him into his arms as if he wasn’t completely soaked in blood. Draco held on for dear life. His heart was hammering right beside Harry’s. Harry’s hand was at the back of his head, directing it so their foreheads were touching.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” he kept saying, stroking his back. He grabbed Draco’s hand and put it on his own chest. “Just breathe like this. It’s going to be okay.”

Draco didn’t know how long it took until he was breathing right again. Harry didn’t make him talk about it but kept stroking his hair and back for a while. Then he got to his feet and helped him up. He tugged at Draco’s scrubs just so. They weren’t wet anymore, but sticking to his body.

“Let’s get you out of these.”

Draco held still as Harry undressed him by hand. He was glad that he wasn’t trying to do it with a spell – he wasn’t sure if he could have stood the feeling of Harry’s raw magic crashing over him when his own was completely depleted. Draco looked over at the door as it clicked shut. The mediwitch was gone.

Harry took him by the hand and pulled him into the adjoining shower room. Draco only noticed how cold he was when the usually tepid water hit his skin. Harry started at the top, washing the blood out of his hair carefully. Draco closed his eyes and let it happen.

He only opened them again when it was over. His skin was pink but clean, but the bath sponge Harry was holding was completely red. He vanished it quickly and then summoned a towel to wrap around Draco.

“Come on. I’ll take you home.”

There was a fresh pair of scrubs laid out on the bench, his hospital badge on top of them. The old ones were gone. Harry looked at himself in the mirror and cast a Doubling Charm at the scrubs. He dressed Draco first. Then he vanished his own wet and blood-soaked clothes and put on the second pair.

Harry took a long look at Draco, who stared back at him emotionlessly. Then he bent down and picked him up, one arm at his back and the other underneath his knees. Draco leaned his forehead against his shoulder and closed his eyes. This was fine. He was past caring.

~o~

Hours had passed when Draco opened his eyes again. He was lying half on top of Harry, his head resting on his chest. Harry had slung his arms around him and was stroking his back lightly. Something warm und furry was pressed against Draco’s other side, even though Aurelius wasn’t allowed in his bed.

Draco didn’t know how his body could feel completely hollow and as heavy as a ton of bricks at the same time. Then his head started pounding violently, as if it had realised that he was awake, and Draco groaned.

Harry shifted slightly and brushed some of Draco’s hair out of his face. “ _Hey ..._ ”

Draco put a hand on Harry’s chest in response. His fingers brushed over the oval scar and he traced it gingerly. Was that thing biding its time, waiting to kill him? Draco shivered and Harry pulled the blanket higher up, until it was covering him completely from the neck down. A warm wave of magic washed over him at the same time, as gentle as Harry’s hand on his naked back. It seeped through his skin and Draco could feel a bit of his own magic returning. Some of his headache dissolved and the tension in his body lessened. He closed his eyes again and drifted off.

~o~

Aurelius was covering him like a heavy, fuzzy blanket, but Harry was gone. Draco stared at the bedroom door, which was cracked open slightly. The room was completely dark, though it seemed to be the middle of the day, judging by the strip of light that was coming in from the hallway. Draco kept staring at it until he heard footsteps on the stairs. Harry came in a few seconds later and placed Draco’s favourite mug on the bedside table. It smelled like Harry’s hair – peppermint. Harry sat down beside him, smiling sadly.

“I’ll help you up so you can drink something.” It wasn’t a question, but not really an order either.

Draco nodded once. They managed to prop him up with his back against the headboard and Draco sipped his tea in silence. Aurelius had curled up at his feet.

“You should probably eat some chocolate as well.”

Harry pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it out to him. Draco lost his grip on the mug and Harry barely managed to catch it, spilling lukewarm tea everywhere. He dropped the Chocolate Snitch in the process and Draco brushed it off the bed like it was poisonous. It vanished somewhere underneath his dresser, where it would probably stay for all eternity.

Harry regarded him with a worried look, but Draco didn’t have it in him to explain.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Draco shook his head. He didn’t know where to look or what to do. He had to return to work for his night shift later that day, which was obviously unthinkable. Even if he had been mentally prepared, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to cast so much as a Lumos.

He wondered how Nash felt. Abercrombie had been Draco’s patient, but she had willingly taken over his duty of informing the deceased’s next of kin. Maybe it wasn’t as hard for her as it was for him, because she had done nothing wrong.

Unlike him.

There was a strange noise, like a dying animal. Draco had heard it often enough – it was the noise people made when you told them their loved one had died. It started somewhere deep inside and then fought its way up. It took Draco a moment to realise that it was coming from him. Then Aurelius joined in, a high-pitched whimper, and Harry dropped the mug and pulled Draco into his arms. A tear dropped onto his naked shoulder – Harry must have undressed him after taking him here – but this time it wasn’t Draco’s.

~o~

Draco watched as the light that shone in from underneath the hallway door got dimmer and dimmer, until it finally vanished completely. Harry was lying behind him, holding him tight. One of his arms was underneath Draco’s body and had probably gone numb hours ago, but Harry didn’t complain. Draco was acutely aware of the spot where the scar on Harry’s chest must have been pressed against Draco’s back.

They lay in silence as another light – silver instead of yellow – slowly got brighter. Draco guessed that it was close to midnight. He didn’t have his badge, but nobody had sent a Howler or an angry Patronus, so Draco assumed that St. Mungo’s wasn’t expecting him tonight. Maybe Cortez had already fired him.

“Hermione had her baby this morning,” Harry said carefully. Maybe he thought that would cheer him up. “It’s a girl ... they named her Rose.”

Draco closed his eyes and tried not to think about Rose Zeller, the girl who had come in with nine of her friends and left with only eight of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops.


	51. Darling, Everything’s on Fire [Monday, November 21st 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all these nice comments from all my loyal as well as a bunch of new commenters: XOX_Eternity_XOX, sp00kiiest, AilurusMel, DarlingDearest, serilla, Slytherinz_Ghost, Superfan1224, Qrainee, Annick, SHkatty, ThatBoringOne, kylorrren, GaySquidBoy, filidoune, Zezily, allhailthehales, Fan and AlluraBelle! 😊
> 
> Glad to hear I made you sad! 😇
> 
> Title: Taylor Swift - Safe and Sound

Draco woke up because Aurelius had stolen his blanket. There was a clanking noise, followed by a sudden blast of light that illuminated the bedroom. Draco shielded his eyes with an arm and patted the space to his right, but Harry was gone again.

He had left something else to watch over him, though it was hard to spot the silvery stag in the broad daylight. Could a Patronus look sad?

Draco got up slowly and almost tripped over the three pairs of shoes that stood in front of his bed. Maybe it was only the Patronus, but Draco wasn’t really cold, so he left them standing and opened the door.

Aurelius shot past him and took the lead downstairs. Then followed Draco at a much slower pace, and Harry’s Patronus brought up the rear. It was reassuring to know there was somebody close by, even though – logically speaking – the Patronus wouldn’t be able to catch him if he fell and he would probably flatten Aurelius.

Harry was kneeling in front of Draco’s fireplace with his head stuck in the green flames. Two cups of tea and a plate of buttered toast stood on the kitchen table. Draco’s stomach growled at the sight, so he sat down and took one. Aurelius lay down on his bare feet while the stag stood majestically by his side.

Draco nibbled on his toast and watched Harry. He couldn’t hear who he was talking to or what was being said, but Harry’s hands were balled into fists and he looked tense. Then he wrenched his head out of the fireplace – like one would slam a door in somebody’s face – and got up, all the while swearing under his breath.

His anger disappeared as soon as he spotted Draco and his posse at the kitchen table. “You’re up!”

Draco had never heard him so relieved. He nodded and inclined his head in the direction of the fireplace.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Harry said offhandedly. Draco kept looking at him, so he continued, “Just Matt. I told him I had to take the day off because of my new goddaughter. That’s apparently not a good enough reason.”

Draco frowned and washed the toast down with some chamomile tea.

“We’ve got that bloody _calendar shoot_ today,” Harry grumbled, sitting down on the chair opposite him. “He seems to think that I’m trying to get out of it. As if I were stupid enough to think I could.”

Draco smiled weakly, which made Harry smile for real. Beside him, the Patronus glowed a little brighter.

“I tried, of course. Every year without fail, to be honest. Only now I already did the Chocolate Snitch card, so that’s my duty for the year done. Seems like Matt found some stupid loophole in my contract, though.” Harry was rambling now, apparently desperate to keep Draco in a good mood. “Maybe I should just get someone to take some Polyjuice and do it for me.”

Draco made a noise that could have been mistaken for a _‘meh’_ and Harry nodded.

“Yeah, probably not such a good idea. That has the potential to end up worse than those look-alike pin-up calendars. And those are pretty bad already.”

“ _Pin-up ...?_ ” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper, but he might as well have been shouting for the reaction it created.

Harry jumped to his feet as if electrocuted and rushed over to the fireplace. He threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames, called out an address and plunged his head in. He was busy for several minutes during which Draco finished his tea and managed to eat a second toast. Then Harry stuck his arm into the fire as well and emerged holding a small package.

He dumped part of it on a chair and then placed the calendar on the table. The title read _‘Harry Hotter 2005’_ , which surely must have sounded absolutely awful to anyone with half a brain.

Draco flipped through it. Every month showed a model – charmed heavily to look at least halfway like Harry – doing a season-y activity while _very_ scantily dressed.

December was ‘Harry’ assembling a snow man. As far as Draco could tell, he was completely naked. One of the snow balls was hovering in front of his private area. He was also wearing a red hat and scarf, but Draco didn’t count those as clothes. July had ‘Harry’ posing on a broom in just his pants, which were also red, of course.

May was the least tasteful of them all, even though that was the month they had given him the most clothes. ‘Harry’ was wearing a red-and-gold breastplate and leather pants. He was standing on a pile of rubble, holding a wand in one hand and a sword in the other. One foot was placed on a pale figure clad in black, which was lying on the ground in front of him.

It was so utterly tasteless that Draco couldn’t help but laugh. Then he remembered _why_ Harry was willingly showing him this in the first place and the laughter turned into dry sobs very suddenly. Aurelius started whining and the Patronus dissipated.

Harry looked like somebody had punched him in the stomach. He rounded the table and embraced him. Draco just clung to him, all the while sobbing _“I’m sorry_ ” (though it sounded mostly like gibberish to him) and gasping for air. He wasn’t crying this time, but then again, he didn’t feel like there was even enough water left in him.

It wasn’t like Abercrombie was the first patient he had lost, not by a long shot. It wasn’t even the first seemingly minor injury that had turned deadly. But it was the first time it had come so unexpectedly, the first time Draco felt he could have prevented it if he had just explained better, been more assertive, reacted faster.

Draco didn’t even want to think about all the other horrible factors that played into his despair, but his mind started to point them out anyway. Male, in his twenties, Gryffindor, curse scar, Quidditch, impaling accident involving a footrest, reckless behaviour, ignoring his Healer’s advice ...

Harry waited until Draco had himself under control again. Then he sat down beside him and said softly, “It’s not your fault.”

Draco shook his head, which caused a whole new wave of pain to flare up in his temple, like his brain had shrivelled up and was banging around in there.

“You weren’t there.”

Harry squeezed his leg. “I know. But I talked to Edith and she _told_ me that it wasn’t your fault.”

“ _Edith?_ ”

“The mediwitch from yesterday. I fire-called her to tell her you’re staying home this week. She told me what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have immobilised it right away.”

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and fixed him with his deep, green eyes, as if he was daring him to see if he was lying.

“Listen. I knew Abercrombie; he was in Gryffindor four years below us. And I know I shouldn’t say this, but he was a knobhead. It wasn’t _your_ fault that he impaled himself like an idiot –” Harry grimaced at the realisation, but soldiered on, “– and neither was it your fault that he decided to go against your explicit instructions.”

“It’s trauma,” Draco croaked. “We have to assume that _all_ of our patients are idiots.”

“He was a Gryffindor _and_ drunk _and_ stupid _and_ trying to impress that girl as well – you can’t expect someone to be _that_ much of an idiot.”

“ _Still_ ...” Draco muttered, but there wasn’t much to follow it up with that Harry couldn’t disagree with. “Cortez will probably kick me out.”

“She can’t just kick you out,” Harry said resolutely. “Edith said it was the curse scar that did it, right? You didn’t have a chance. There will be an inquiry and it will prove you’re not at fault. She can’t fire you after that.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her to just pin this on me without an inquiry,” Draco said bitterly.

“Too late.” Harry summoned the rest of his package from where he had dumped it on the chair. “It’s already in the Prophet.”

Draco felt paralysed, but Harry grabbed the paper and flipped it open to page four, where a headshot of Abercrombie was printed. Draco didn’t think he would have told Harry about the article had the roles been reversed, but maybe that was the reason why Harry did it – because he hated being kept in the dark.

Draco forced himself to skim the article. It told of the tragic death of Euan Abercrombie, 21, who had died from mysterious complications after a Quidditch injury on early Sunday morning. The article mentioned that there was to be a full inquiry during which the _‘Healer on duty’_ would be suspended with full pay.

The last paragraph read:

_‘Rumours that Harry Potter was spotted at St. Mungo’s only minutes after Mr. Abercrombie’s demise could be neither confirmed nor denied._

_Ms. Rose Zeller, a friend of Abercrombie’s, who claims to have seen the Boy Who Lived on the night in question, pointed out: ‘They were in Gryffindor together, so it makes sense that Potter came to look after him. Now, I’ve only known Euan for a week, but he often told us funny little anecdotes about the stuff the four of them – Potter, Granger, Weasley and himself, that is – got up to.’_

_Meanwhile, mediwitch Edith Puffin, 35, told our Prophet reporter: ‘Harry Potter hasn’t been to St. Mungo’s in at least a week and if he had, I’d know about it. So, get lost, you vultures!’_

Several seconds went by until the information had filtered through Draco’s muddy brain. He felt like he should probably read it again, just to make sure he had understood it correctly, but there was no way he could stomach it a second time.

“She covered for us?”

Harry took the newspaper and folded it neatly, eyes on Draco the whole time. “Edith _really_ hates the Prophet and _really_ likes you, apparently. Don’t know how you did that.”

“Yeah, me neither ...” Draco mumbled, feeling especially bad. He hadn’t even known her name until today.

There was a sudden knock on the window and Draco flinched, knocking his mug off the table and watching numbly as it shattered. It sounded deafening in the otherwise silent kitchen, but then Aurelius barked and Harry swore and drew his wand, and it all seemed to crash in at Draco, who closed his eyes and slammed his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to escape.

Draco started counting in his head to keep his thoughts occupied.

The noise died down when he reached thirty-four. Cold hands were placed over his at seventy-five. At eighty-one, Harry’s body was draped against his back and he pressed his lips against the back of Draco’s head only a second later.

At one hundred and thirty-six, Draco dropped his hands and opened his eyes.

The floor was clean, Draco’s favourite mug stood on the table, completely intact, and there was a crumbled letter right next to it, the writing just an unreadable, messy scrawl that spoke of despair.

“Are you reading my mail?” Draco asked without feeling, looking without seeing.

Harry let go of him and stuffed the letter into his back pocket. He caught Draco staring and gave him a weak smile. “You shouldn’t look at your mail for a while. I’ll keep an eye on it for you, alright?”

Draco cleared his parched throat. “How many?”

A sigh and a cautious look. “A few.”

A lot, then. People knew already. That it was his fault. Draco wondered if the family had sent a letter yet. He wouldn’t ask.

“I think I need a lawyer,” muttered Draco, blank eyes fixed on his mug.

There wasn’t an immediate response. Harry didn’t object. He just took a deep breath, then another one. Then he said cautiously, “Hermione’s overturned so many laws, she’s on a first name basis with basically every lawyer who’s worth anything. I’ll ask her to make contact.”

Draco shook his head. “She’s just had a baby. I can’t ask her to do that.”

Harry’s smile was bittersweet. “Knowing her, she’ll have started researching as soon as I told her what happened.”

“She should be resting, getting settled,” protested Draco, though his heart wasn’t really in it. “Not working on correcting my mess.”

“It’s Hermione. That’s what she does for her friends. This is more relaxing for her than having to sit it out could ever be.” Harry leaned in and pressed a kiss against his temple. “Don’t worry. We’ll handle it. You’re going to be alright.”

Had it been anybody else who said it, Draco would have laughed hysterically.

Coming from Harry Potter, Draco was almost inclined to believe it.


	52. Just Watch Me Now [Saturday, December 3rd 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting: Kylorrren, Slytherinz_Ghost, WildvanillaRose, M.a., serilla, SHkatty, Fan, ThatBoringOne, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Zezily, De_Borah, filidoune, hush_over_the_night and allhailthehales! 😊
> 
> Also, no blasphemy in my comment section, please! ☝️ Edith can’t be our Lord and Saviour, because there is only one Saviour and his name is Harry James Potter!
> 
> Title: The Phantoms – Watch Me

“Why did you say yes to this again?”

“Fuck if I know,” said Harry, banging his head against the wall softly.

They both knew why, though. Harry felt obligated to do this because Blaise had put in not just a good word but several good sentences with his Ministry friends. Yes, Blaise had done that for Draco, not for him, but that was Harry Potter for you.

Harry kept adjusting his grip on the Lightning Blast even though they were still standing in the empty hallway leading into Blaise’s test stadium, each of them leaning against opposing walls. The doors were closed, but they could hear the mob of excited spectators inside.

“Chin up,” said Draco in an admittedly futile attempt to cheer him up. And who was he to talk, anyway? He had been crying at least once a day until only a week ago. But Draco was trying to forget about that. “It’s just half an hour of stunt-flying, right? You do that all the time at practice.”

Harry glared at him and pulled his brand-new cape (teal blue with the light grey ‘Zabroomi’ brand logo stitched right across) straight.

“You know that’s _not_ the part I’m worried about.”

“The press part will only take about fifteen minutes. Blaise will probably be talking for most of it. There won’t be any personal questions.”

Harry scoffed and grabbed Draco’s lower arm so he could take a look at his watch for the fifth time. “Yeah, because these people respect my privacy. You’ve obviously never been at a press conference.”

Draco smirked. “Well, at least you look pretty.”

Harry looked himself down with obvious displeasure. He gestured at his black sports shirt, which didn’t leave anything to the imagination. “It’s too tight. Why do they always do this to me? I look ridiculous.”

Draco looked him up and down and grinned. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t like this shirt if somebody else was wearing it. And look,” Draco grabbed Harry’s upper arm and squeezed, “it gives the impression that there’s actually some muscle on your stick arms.”

Harry shoved Draco back playfully, rolling his eyes almost fondly. “You’ll have to cut me out of this later, I swear. It’s a wonder I even managed to put it on.”

“It’s a burden I’ll have to bear.”

Harry checked Draco’s watch _again_ and sighed. “At least there’s tonight to look forward to. Sooky makes the best Canapés.”

“So, you’ve forgiven her for beating you up that one time?”

Harry pushed off his wall and pressed Draco against the other with a hand on his chest. “We agreed never to talk about that again.”

His eyebrows were drawn together tightly and he looked somewhat imposing with the broom in his hand and his muscles on full display. Which were not exactly bulky, but definitely _there_ , no matter what Draco had just said. Draco needed to thank Blaise later.

He grabbed the front of Harry’s robes and pulled him in for a fierce kiss, startling him for a split second before he joined in. It didn’t last long – after only a moment Harry drew away and leaned his forehead against Draco’s, breathing stagnantly.

“There’s hundreds of people just behind this door,” he said as if Draco could’ve forgotten. Which was kind of hard with Blaise’s magnified voice trickling through the doors.

Draco kissed him again, grinning against his lips. “I know,” he muttered in between kisses. “That’s what makes it so exciting.”

Harry staggered a little when Draco finally pushed him away. He took a look at his watch – noon sharp – and stepped back from the doors until the spectators wouldn’t be able to see him from inside the stadium.

“Break a leg,” said Draco with a smile. Then he added, more sternly. “But don’t. Seriously, don’t or _I’ll_ have to break your neck.” 

Harry shook his head, grinning to himself, and mounted his broom, hovering a foot above the ground in perfect balance. “After what you just did to me, it’ll be your fault if I’m unfocused enough to mess it up.”

And then it really was time, because Blaise’s voice picked up a notch.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe it is time to see the Lightning Blast in action. Here to demonstrate today are two very esteemed players. Our first guest was just voted this season’s most popular Chaser. She’s been playing for the Holyhead Harpies for three years now and just surpassed former record holder Violet Slate with a whooping seventy-four percent success rate for hoop shots. It’s my pleasure to present to you – _GINNY WEASLEY!_ ”

People cheered and Harry looked over his shoulder to give Draco a pointed look. Draco shrugged helplessly. It wasn’t _his_ fault that Blaise was making such a fuss introducing them. Though it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. Blaise wasn’t one for subtlety.

“And now for our second guest, whose team just preordered a whole set of Lightning Blasts for the coming season! He’s your favourite Seeker for the fifth consecutive year and this season’s winner of the Dangerous Dai Commemorative Medal! Here today is the man who – on this very broom – broke the sound barrier last year! Give it up for _HARRY POTTER_!”

The doors moved and Harry shot out through the gap and into the stadium before they were even fully opened. The ruckus crashing into the hallway was deafening and Draco didn’t waste another second looking after him. He made his way up into the centre stand, which Blaise had reserved just for them.

~o~

Draco had never understood just what made press conferences so unbearable for Harry. He just had to sit at a table for half an hour and answer questions about weather conditions, Seeker training routines and moves he’d performed, right?

 _Wrong_.

“My question is for Harry,” said the witch Blaise was pointing at. Already a bad start. Harry’s jaw twitched subtly. “Harry, my readers would like to know if there’s a special lady in your life right now?”

Samantha, who was standing next to Draco in a vacant, out-of-view hallway, sighed and muttered, “Why doesn’t he just _tell_ them he’s single?”

Draco shrugged. “Probably doesn’t want them to get the feeling they’re entitled to his private life.”

Harry looked at Blaise like he wanted to say _‘See? Told you so!’_ and then faced the witch with a blank expression. “You know full well I won’t comment on that, _Miss_ _Wells_.”

The last part was definitely a dig at her lack of common courtesy. Why she thought it was okay for her to address Harry by his first name, Draco didn’t really understand either. The witch pouted and dropped back into her seat.

After that there were two broom-related questions, which all three of them answered enthusiastically, and then another one aimed at Harry’s love life, which he straight up ignored without a word, prompting Samantha to sigh deeply again and Blaise to just call upon another wizard.

The wizard looked down at his notes, pushed his glasses up with the tip of his quill and said, “Justin Houghton, Daily Prophet. Mr. Potter, Draco Malfoy’s suspension from St. Mungo’s was lifted yesterday evening. How do you feel about that?”

Draco’s heart missed several beats. Harry’s face slipped. Ginny’s neck twitched, like she only just managed to supress the urge to look at Harry. Blaise shot a sidelong glance at Draco and then quickly looked back at Houghton.

“I … I’m … what?”

Draco really wished Harry wouldn’t brush a hand through his stupid hair right now. This was the exact opposite of a casual reaction. Nobody _knew_ he had had anything to do with the whole debacle – Hermione’s research and the lawyer she had recommended had been more than enough to take care of most of his mess, and Draco had straight up forbidden Harry from using his name to influence the outcome of his inquiry.

If Draco really had been at fault, judged from a completely objective perspective, he wouldn’t have wanted to get away scot-free.

“Oh, boy.” Samantha waved at Harry, trying to get his attention, but he just glanced in their direction and then faced the front again, looking even more confused than before.

“You were friends with Euan Abercrombie, right? Do you think St. Mungo’s is doing his memory justice?”

“ _What?_ ” Harry looked like he was _this_ close to vaulting over the table and clocking Houghton on the head.

Samantha groaned in frustration. There was no noise that could have expressed what Draco was feeling, which was that the ground had just opened up beneath him. He had been expecting a public outcry, but not _now_ , and not while he had to look the accuser in the face.

“Ladies and gentlewizards,” said Blaise placatingly, raising both hands and smiling mildly. “Only Quidditch related questions today, please.”

“No,” said Harry hotly. “I’ll answer that stupid question alright.” He glared at Houghton so intensely that Draco wouldn’t have been surprised to see him burst into flames.

Ginny leaned over to whisper something in his ear, but Harry shook his head vehemently and raised his right fist so all of them could see the words etched into his skin. _I must not tell lies._

“I’ll definitely _not_ keep quiet while people spread lies and prejudices.” He got to his feet and placed both hands on the table, making it look like his biceps were about to burst through his ultra-tight sleeves.

“First of all, during my whole time at Hogwarts, I exchanged maybe three words with Abercrombie, _tops_. So, I wouldn’t exactly call us _friends_. Second of all, even if we _had_ been friends, I would never blame Draco Malfoy for his death.”

“Great,” muttered Samantha, most of all to herself. “Now I’ve got to compose a letter of apology to that boy’s parents.”

“Anybody who actually bothered to read the inquiry report knows that Draco did _everything_ he could to save him and it was the curse scar as well as Abercrombie’s own disregard for his Healer’s orders that killed him – not that he deserved it. And third of all, you may remember that he saved my life last year. And I’d trust him with it anytime.”

Harry pushed his chair back forcefully and left through Draco’s hallway before anybody could even register he was going. Without even looking at him, he grabbed Draco by the upper arm and pulled him along.

“Harry!” Samantha hurried after them, clearly displeased.

“I don’t need a lecture,” Harry growled, and Samantha actually stopped in her tracks. “Not on this.”

Draco wasn’t sure if Harry even knew where they were going. He was stomping along, choosing corridors on a whim, until they finally ended up inside an office with Floo access. Harry grabbed the bowl of Floo powder on the mantle and threw it into the fireplace.

“I’ll do it,” said Draco suddenly, fiercely, stupidly. Then, when Harry turned around with wild confusion in his eyes, he added, “I’ll try with your scars.”

Draco didn’t know how much of it was gratitude and the attempt to pay Harry back for his trust and support, and how much was fear for Harry’s life after what had happened with Abercrombie.

But when Harry kissed him, he knew that it was right.

~o~

“So, you and Potter?” Pansy Parkinson sat down in the chair opposite Draco’s and crossed her legs, nearly impaling Draco’s on one of her five-inch high heels.

Draco raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his firewhisky. Judging by how crowded it was, Blaise had obviously invited all one-hundred of his closest friends, but Draco never would have expected to see _her_ there. She hadn’t visited once since she left for Paris years ago.

“Nice to see you too, Pansy. What about me and Potter?”

She looked him up and down. “That’s what I want to know. It was hard enough to believe that Blaise is involved with Weasley now, but I _really_ thought he was having me on when he told me the two of you are friends with Potter.”

Pansy paused and looked at him expectantly. Draco merely sipped his whisky and held her eyes. She finally leaned back in her chair and tapped her fingernails against the armrest.

“That was quite the speech. Potter seems to have a very high opinion of you.”

“He’d better,” said Draco, raising an eyebrow. “I _did_ save his life, after all. In my free time, I might add.”

“He made you Healer for his team.”

“Well, I already did the job, the least they could do was pay me for it.”

Pansy’s muddy green eyes were boring themselves into Draco’s. “You’re spending your free time with him. And with his _Muggle_ friends.”

Draco rolled his eyes, emptied his glass and set it down on the table with a _clank_. “I don’t need to justify myself.”

“You turn your back on your family and then you try to blend in with Muggles! I’m guessing that’s the reason your parents refuse to even acknowledge your existence these days?”

Draco was tempted to throw his drink in her face, but his good upbringing forbade it. Also, his glass was empty.

Instead, he stood up and placed a hand on each of her armrests, leaning over her. “Listen here, you bigoted _bitch_ –”

“You’re not starting a brawl without me, are you?” Harry appeared at Draco’s side out of nowhere.

Draco righted himself and stepped away from Pansy, trying to calm himself. Harry crossed his arms and glared down at her. 

“Parkinson. Can’t say I’m pleased to see you. Hey, _remember_ when you tried to hand me over to Voldemort so he could kill me?”

Pansy tossed her short black hair, making it swing back and forth. She gave Harry a freezing look. “Well, in the end you went there anyway. After you let _dozens_ of people die needlessly, of course. So, I really don’t see what exactly I’m supposed to have done wrong.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Apart from potentially dooming us all to living under _His_ regime of terror, you mean?”

She uncrossed her legs dramatically and stood up. In her high heels, she was taller than Harry, whom she regarded with a disparaging look before fixing Draco and saying calmly, “I’m dying to see how long this will last before it all falls apart.”

“Please do,” said Draco coldly, not even bothering to ask what she meant.

“Don’t fool yourselves. I don’t know what you think connects you, but it will be the exact same thing that drives you apart in the end. You are too alike. You never could stand each other for too long. I always knew you’d be each other’s undoing. And I’ll be watching.”

And she turned around and walked away, head held high and hips swaying excessively.

Harry was staring daggers at her retreating back, muttering, “I didn’t think it was possible to hate her even more than I already did.”

“And yet, here we are.”

Harry took a look around and then leaned over to whisper, “She doesn’t _know_ about us, right?”

Draco sighed and beckoned a waiter over. He definitely needed a drink now.

“I don’t know how she possibly could. But then again, it’s Pansy. She has a nose for gossip and scandal.”


	53. Throwing Caution to the Wind [Friday, December 9th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, those were a lot of comments on old and new chapters. I really hope I got you all 😉  
> Thanks so much: You_Wish, Slytherinz_Ghost, filidoune, DarlingDearest, OrangeColouredPencils, serilla, hush_over_the_night, De_Borah, wonderingwoman, Fan, WildvanillaRose, burninglikeacid, Zezily, XOX_Eternity_XOX, allhailthehales, illindalenti, Fandomwarriorqueen and Justforthedead! <3  
> Almost didn’t make it before midnight!

They decided to start their experiment on a Friday. If anything went wrong, Harry would still have the weekend to recover before he had to be at practice on Monday. Draco prayed they wouldn’t need it.

There was a treatment room on the top floor of St. Mungo’s that no one ever used. Draco wasn’t exactly sure why, but you couldn’t even find it on the evacuation plan. Draco’s best guess was that it was haunted. So that was, of course, where they had decided to do their experiment. Draco had already used all of his break time to make sure that the room was tidy and clean.

When his shift was finally over, he made sure that nobody was paying him any attention and then made his way up. The room was seemingly empty, apart from a bright golden orb that illuminated it. Draco stepped in and locked the room.

There were footsteps and then somebody slung one arm around his waist. Draco pulled off the hood of Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and kissed him.

“This definitely feels illegal,” Harry said, taking off the Cloak and stuffing it into his pocket. He was rubbing his wrist nervously.

“Well, then it must be right up your alley, I imagine.”

“If you’ve been Britain’s Most Wanted once, everything else kind of loses its appeal,” Harry joked. He sat down on the treatment table and dangled his legs. “Now I’m just living to chase the next high.”

Draco sat down on an exam stool directly in front of him and drew his wand. Harry’s eyes were fixed on it in an instant.

“Relax. I’ll just check your overall health first. Are you really sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah. Let’s get it over with.”

Draco cast his standard diagnostic spell, which created a faint aura around Harry that only he could see. The result wasn’t standard at all, and Draco frowned. “That can’t be right.”

“If it’s about my ankle, I think it’s only slightly sprained,” Harry said immediately. “Fucking McCarthy just grabbed me.”

“That’s not it.” Draco rapped his wand against Harry’s left ankle, which fixed that one right up. Then he returned his attention to the aura. “According to my spell, you have _two_ heartbeats. That’s never happened before ... Well, no, it has happened plenty of times, but never when my patient was male.”

“ _Oh._ ” Harry ruffled his hair and then put his hand in the front pocket of his baggy hooded sweater. “About _that_ ...”

Draco closed his eyes in resignation. “Tell me that’s not –”

“Afraid so.”

And then Harry pulled Emerald out of his pocket. She curled around his left arm and flicked her tongue at Draco in greeting.

“You brought _Emerald_ to St. Mungo’s?”

Harry shrugged. “She’s my emotional support snake.”

Draco groaned, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He repeated his spell, which thankfully didn’t reveal any other deadly animals, and then summoned his camera from where he had deposited it earlier to take a close-up of the two round scars Nagini had left on Harry’s right wrist.

Draco didn’t know how it could possibly be true, as Nagini had been ‘just’ a snake, but Harry had assured him that the scars were cursed.

“I won’t explain it completely,” he’d said with that gloomy look he sometimes had, “but she was definitely more. There was something evil inside of her.”

Draco didn’t have all that much trouble believing it. He’d seen her do all kinds of horrible things on His command. He still dreamt about it from time to time, though it had gotten a little better since he wasn’t alone at night anymore.

“You’d better lie down; I don’t want you passing out on me.”

Harry did as he was told, placing Emerald on his stomach. Draco took Harry’s wrist in his hand and used a spell to sterilise the skin. Harry looked up at him thoughtfully.

“How come you’re doing this? You’re on Trauma, not Curses.”

“I’m not planning on doing Trauma forever.” Draco soaked a cloth in essence of valerian and then pressed it to Harry’s wrist to numb the area. “And let’s just say I’ve taken a personal interest.”

Harry’s eyes travelled to Draco’s left arm, but Draco shook his head. “Not that one. I’ve got to keep that.”

“Why?” Harry propped himself up on one elbow, but Draco pushed him back with a hand on his chest.

“That’s my burden to bear. It reminds me to do better.”

Harry put his free hand on the one Draco was still pressing to his wrist and squeezed. Then he let go and put his head back, like he was getting comfortable. Emerald had curled up on his stomach, and he was stroking her head with his free hand. Draco placed his Quick-Quotes Quill on a piece of paper. Documentation was crucial in research, so he would be narrating everything.

“Alright. Here goes nothing.”

Draco took up a scalpel. He refrained from telling Harry that he’d not actually cut a living person since Meadows had rendered it unnecessary by inventing _Corpus Inspicio_. If only he could use a spell to accurately cut away part of the skin. He felt barbaric just _holding_ the scalpel.

Draco made the first cut. Harry inhaled sharply, but held his arm still. Emerald turned her head to watch what he was doing, but she didn’t seem to be planning to defend Harry against him.

“Sorry. I’d sedate you, but I need you conscious, so you can tell me if something feels wrong. You never know with curses.”

Harry was staring up at the ceiling with gritted teeth. “It’s alright. Just go on, don’t mind me.”

Draco spent the next twenty minutes performing a mixture of cutting, narrating and checking Harry’s condition with a spell while he had a whispered conversation with Emerald.

“Alright, it’s coming off now,” Draco announced finally. “And then it’s time for the moment of truth – we’ll see if it comes back when I heal the wound.”

And he cut through the last layer of skin.

It happened as soon as the cursed scar wasn’t connected to Harry’s body anymore: all the dark magic seemed to burst forth at once. Draco was knocked off his exam stool, and all the air left his body at once as he landed flat on his back.

“ _Draco!_ ”

Harry leaned over the edge of his treatment table, cradling his hand to his chest. Emerald’s head poked out of Harry’s hair, where she seemed to have fled.

“That was cursed alright,” Draco groaned, getting back up onto his stool. He took Harry’s hand into his own. Just like the necklace at Draco’s chest, it felt unnaturally hot. It was also still bleeding, but that wasn’t surprising after he’d cut it open. “Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have started with my Snitch hand,” Harry said drily.

Draco was getting the impression that he was downplaying his injury so Draco wouldn’t feel too bad.

“ _Vulnera Sano_.”

The blood flow stopped. The skin fused back together smoothly and Harry held his hand up to inspect the wrist, though he kept it conspicuously still.

“It’s gone!”

“How much does it hurt?”

“It’s alright if I just hold it like this.” Harry was trying for a casual tone. He tugged at one of his locks with his good hand, which Emerald commented with a soft hiss.

Draco cast the aura spell and then raised his eyebrows at Harry.

“Fine, hurts like a bitch. Matt won’t be happy.”

“It’s the off-season! Your first game isn’t until January.”

Harry laughed fondly. “He still wants us to train like usual.”

Draco put some more valerian on the wrist and then immobilised it by conjuring a splint. “Well, it should get better in a week or so, so he’ll have to suck it up.”

“You could write to Matt and tell him it was McCarthy’s fault,” Harry suggested hopefully. He let Draco pull him to his feet and then accepted his help putting on the Invisibility Cloak as well.

“I’ll think of something,” Draco promised as he gathered his equipment. “Maybe something a little more believable than that.”

Something gleamed to Draco’s left as an invisible Harry pulled the scalpel out of the wall. Draco hadn’t even realised that he had lost it.

“You should probably review your approach.”

“Possible.” Draco took the scalpel and tossed it into a waste bin before he unlocked the door. “Come on, I’ll make you dinner.”

“Haven’t I suffered enough already?” Harry said melodramatically, which was _rude_ , but Draco wasn’t going to call him out after he had just volunteered to be cut open for Draco’s research.

So he just bumped Harry’s shoulder and said, “Fine. We can stop by Linh’s.”

Harry looped his arm through Draco’s and pulled him towards the stairs enthusiastically. “Thank God!”

~o~

Somebody was knocking on Draco’s kitchen window and Harry flinched instantly. Draco slung his arms and legs around him before he had a chance to jump off the couch.

“Just ignore it,” he whispered while pressing kisses against Harry’s throat at the same time. “I’m not home.”

Another knock, more urgent than the first. “Draco, I know you’re home!”

“No, I’m not,” muttered Draco, pulling Harry in for another real kiss.

“What does Blaise want?” grumbled Harry, melting back into Draco’s arms. “Doesn’t he know it’s impolite to drop in like that? I swear, your friends have no manners ... First Parkinson, now _him_.”

Draco was just about to say that he was actually reconsidering his previous statement about being friends with Pansy, when there was some more knocking, this time rapid-fire.

And it wasn’t Blaise who shouted, “We know you’re there! We can _see_ your hair, Potter! Get dressed and let us in!”

Draco snorted and let go of Harry. “Want to rephrase that sentence?”

Harry groaned and sat up on top of Draco so he could see the kitchen window over the back of the couch. Even from down there, Draco could tell that he was glaring.

“Get a move on!” Ginny clearly wasn’t as intimidated as Harry would have liked. “You two can have it off when we’re gone.”

“We never should have let those two get together,” muttered Harry as he pulled his shirt straight and climbed over the couch using only his left hand.

“I’m pretty sure you had much more to do with that than me.”

Draco sorted out his hair before sitting up to see their friends with their noses pressed to the window (Blaise strictly metaphorically and Ginny quite literally).

“You’ll never hear me admit to that!” shouted Harry from the hallway.

Then there was a lot of barking and excited whining as the door opened and Aurelius greeted their ‘guests’ enthusiastically. Draco grabbed his wand from the coffee table and summoned two plates.

Blaise and Ginny came in as he divided his own food into two portions and then tried to gauge how much of Harry’s order he could take without asking for trouble.

“Don’t even think about it!”

The container was plucked from his hands before he could make a decision, and then Harry dropped down on Draco’s second couch, nearest to the fireplace and far away from his thieving spoon, and glared at him.

“Don’t worry, Draco,” said Ginny, “I’m not really hungry anyway.”

But Draco still saw how she picked up one of the forks. Harry, who had already started eating, didn’t seem to have noticed and merely glanced up as she sat down on the armrest at his side.

Blaise took Draco’s armchair and the plate containing half of his food. “Thank Merlin the showcase was last week,” he said with a nod at Harry’s right hand, which he still held to his chest at an awkward angle.

Harry looked up and said bluntly, “Yeah. Would have been a _shame_ if I hadn’t been able to fly.”

Blaise waved a hand. “You’d still have been able to do the press conference, and that was half the battle.”

“Felt like a whole war, though,” said Ginny, casually stealing some of Harry’s food.

“Let’s not talk about that,” grumbled Harry. “I’m trying to erase all of it from my memory.”

Draco was all for forgetting that disastrous event. He turned to face Blaise. “Pansy said something at your party. Something about us not lasting.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, but waited for him to continue.

“She didn’t say it outright, of course, but it almost sounded like she knows.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Blaise, fully concentrating on his plate again. “Pansy’s off her game. I don’t think she’s much of a threat.”

Draco frowned at Blaise while Harry and Ginny exchanged a confused look. Blaise looked up after a moment of silence and fixed each of them for a second.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice. Draco?”

Draco shook his head. Maybe he was off his game too? He blamed the overwhelming Gryffindor influence.

Blaise sighed and put down his fork. “She was in the country to try and find distributors for her fashion line. And then she went on to antagonise Harry Potter in public. From what I’ve heard, nobody was interested in doing business with her after that. She turned tail and returned to France the next day.”

“Serves her right,” said Ginny bluntly, eyeing Harry’s food thoroughly and then selecting a giant mushroom.

“You’re going to get stabbed,” said Draco drily.

“Speaking from experience?” she said with a cocky grin, snatching some of Harry’s tofu like it was a walk in the park.

“Unfortunately.”

Her grin widened. “I’ll let you in on a secret.”

She poked her fork at Harry’s food without taking anything at once, which was just plain insane. Seeing as he was balancing the container on his knees, his wand hand was still incapacitated and his left was holding the fork, Harry was reduced to bumping her with his shoulder, which she straight up ignored in favour of gathering a variety of vegetables on her fork.

Fascinated, Draco watched as she chewed like she hadn’t just done the impossible. She winked at him and continued, “You’ve got to train him. Start with puppy eyes, then work your way up to swiping a tiny piece of chocolate from time to time and soon you’ll be able to steal a whole piece of cake right from under his nose.”

Harry bumped her again, causing her to nearly topple off the arm rest, and then grabbed his container and scooted away from her. Ginny just laughed and slipped into the now vacant place next to him.

“I’d rather live,” said Draco, returning his attention to his own (safe) plate.

Ginny laughed again and stole some more of Harry’s food, completely ignoring his repeated attempts at fighting her off with just his shoulder and knee (while trying not to spill food all over his lap).

“Seriously though, all you’ve got to do is condition him while you’re at the Burrow. Harry’s a chicken. He’d never dare make a scene with Mum around.”

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation, but he seemed to have given up on defending his food. “Whose side are you on?”

Ginny grinned some more and picked up the container, holding it so they could both reach it comfortably. “The fun side.”

“I’m not having fun,” muttered Harry, though his bright eyes betrayed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictured: Harry, Aurelius, Draco, Ginny and Blaise
> 
> Next up: Christmas (again)!! 😊


	54. Take Me Back to the Start [Saturday, December 24th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the commenters: filidoune, Slytherinz_Ghost, SHkatty, WildvanillaRose, FakeAndGay, hush_over_the_night, M.a., Grace Kudla, illindalenti, hitomu, allhailthehales, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Zezily, ThatBoringOne, Fan, kylorrren, PrimeMinisterofEverything, night, DarlingDearest and Justforthedead! 😊
> 
> To anyone who’s confused about the bite scar: Harry gets that in Godrics’ Hollow (DH, p. 278), after Nagini leaves Bathilda’s body. It actually says forearm, but that’s practically where the wrist is, right?
> 
> Title: Coldplay – The Scientist

Draco didn’t know where the year had gone. This time last year he had been fully expecting to spend Christmas at St. Mungo’s and then return home to Aurelius. No presents, no Christmas dinner, just Draco and his dog.

Then Harry had wizard-napped him and introduced him to his Muggle friends.

Harry didn’t have to abduct him this year. Draco donned his Weasley sweater with Aurelius on the front (even though Harry insisted that it wasn’t a _Christmas_ sweater per the Muggles’ definition – Draco refused to wear something like that in public ever again) and went to pick Harry up at home.

They Apparated to the same side alley as the year before and made their way into the pub, holding hands like love-sick _teenagers_.

Somehow, they ended up squished onto a bench with three other people again, even though they weren’t as many people as the year before. The Granger-Weasleys were at home with their baby and Dean was spending Christmas with his new Muggle girlfriend.

“Alright,” Draco said as soon as they sat down and everybody was done commenting on Harry’s wrist, which behaved like a Muggle injury for once and was still completely black and blue two weeks later. “I’ve got to get this out of the way first: I was told to expect a pub _crawl_ last year. But it seems to me that you always go to this very same pub and do absolutely no crawling.”

“Oh shit, he’s onto us,” Lauren stage-whispered.

“It _was_ a pub crawl when we started,” Olivia said. “Until we met Harry and Lauren. Then it became this.”

“December 24th 2000,” Lauren said with a dreamy look on her face. “Best Christmas _ever._ Harry punched Olivia’s ex-boyfriend in the face.”

Harry tried to ram his elbow in her side, but she seemed to have expected that and deflected it easily.

“We agreed to never talk about that again,” Harry hissed, though he didn’t seem sorry. He seemed to have done rather a lot of things that people weren’t supposed to talk about.

“Agreed?” Lauren laughed. “You _tried_ to intimidate me. Problem is, you’re not very intimidating.”

The witches and wizards present exchanged meaningful looks. The consent was clear: they found that Harry could be intimidating enough.

“I had just punched a guy in the face,” Harry argued. “I think that’s intimidating.”

Lauren gave him a condescending smile. “Well, it probably would’ve worked a lot better if you weren’t half a foot shorter and twenty pounds lighter than me. Also, your form was sloppy.”

“I learned that from you!” Harry exclaimed.

“Yeah, but you’d only been coming to my lessons for three months by then.”

“You’re _both_ very intimidating,” Draco assured them. “But let’s get back on topic. Why did Harry punch somebody in the face?”

“Okay,” Olivia said, leaning forward so she could look at him past Lauren and Harry. “Before I met Lauren, I had a boyfriend, Zach. Let’s just say I was a little confused.”

“A lot confused,” Harry corrected, looking actually disgusted. “Zacharias Smith, that wanker. Total arsehole.”

“ _Smith?_ ” Draco exchanged a disbelieving look with Harry, who nodded, rolling his eyes at the same time.

“He’s the worst,” Ginny agreed. “Do you remember how he did the commentary for one of our games and dragged our team the whole time?”

“Vividly,” Draco replied. He’d been able to hear the commentary up in the Room of Requirement and enjoyed it immensely back then. But he’d never admit to it now, surrounded by Gryffindors and their unknowing supporters.

“ _Great_ , you know him too,” Olivia commented. “Right. So, I had just broken up with Zach that November and was doing our annual Christmas pub crawl with Ella, Callum and three other friends. They moved a few months after that.”

“And I had convinced Harry to come here with me,” said Lauren, leaning back into the conversation. “Wasn’t easy, I tell you. He was practically a hermit back then.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said with a sigh. “Move on already.”

“Right,” Lauren said. “So, we were sitting in our booth, drinking, talking, watching people. I practically told Harry my whole life-story and he told me absolutely nothing about himself, which was about as much as I already knew about him anyway.”

“Why would I tell you anything when I only knew you for a few months?”

“Hermit,” Lauren repeated. “Moving on. It was almost midnight when these three –,” she pointed at Olivia, Ella and Callum, “– and their clique came in.”

“We got our drinks at the bar,” Olivia continued. “And then Zach found us. He must’ve searched all our usual pubs, the stalker.”

“It was creepy,” Ella agreed. “He wouldn’t leave Olivia alone and he was rambling on about how she should take him back because he’s _so_ great.”

“He was making a total scene,” Lauren said. “We could understand every single word, even though they were way over there and the pub was stuffed. And suddenly Harry says _‘I know that fucker’_ and gets up.”

“So, we’re over there,” Olivia continued, pointing at the bar. “And Zach is going totally crazy. And then suddenly Harry’s there. And he says _‘Hey Smith’_ and Zach turns around and Harry just punches him in the face.”

“Totally deserved it,” Callum commented. “And I’m against violence, usually. But that guy ... no way to talk him down. What a nutter.”

“Well, Zach acted like he’d seen a ghost. Didn’t say anything and just left,” Olivia finished. “I never heard from him again.”

“And then they invited me to join their pub crawl and I introduced them to Lauren,” Harry said.

“And we’ve loved these two ever since,” Olivia added with a soft smile.

For someone who hadn’t wanted this story told, Harry looked mighty pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m great at first impressions.”

“Would’ve been way more romantic if _I_ had punched Zach in the face,” Lauren said wistfully. “But you had to take all the glory.”

“You still got the girl.” Harry pointed out. “All _I_ got was a broken thumb. Don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Sloppy,” Lauren repeated. “Also, it wasn’t _really_ broken. You were back for training two weeks later.”

“I just heal very fast!”

“That’s true,” Draco agreed. “Or he’d be covered in bruises _constantly_.” Well, _technically_ , he was.

“Well, be that as it may,” Lauren said with a wave of her hand. “Fact is, we’ve been sticking to this pub ever since then.”

“Harry claims it’s because of the nostalgia,” Olivia said conspiratorial. “But really it’s because –”

“It’s December,” Draco finished for her. “And he’s too cold to switch pubs every few hours.”

“Exactly!” Lauren exclaimed, pointing at Draco. “See, Harry? It’s not just a crazy theory! Your boyfriend supports it!”

“Please. What does _he_ know about me?” Harry grumbled.

Draco smirked at him. “Do you really want to go there, _Violet_?”

“Shots!” Harry yelled, pushing Draco towards the edge of their bench so he had to get up. “Let’s go, _rodent_.”

When they came back, the others were huddled around a book that was placed in the middle of the table. Harry sped up and squeezed back onto the bench to have a look over Lauren’s shoulder, leaving Draco with the task of distributing the shots.

“What’s so fascinating?”

“The Book!” Harry sounded very excited and pulled him onto the bench with a little too much force, so that Luna fell off at the other end of it. “Every year, Olivia and Lauren put together an album of photos.”

Luna didn’t show any sign of surprise and just moved over to a free chair that made Draco question why they had been squeezed together like that in the first place.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until the year is over?” Draco asked.

“Don’t give me that logic bullshit,” Lauren said, waving her hand. “I want this book ready for Christmas, because that’s part of its magic.”

“I like that every book starts with Christmas,” Olivia agreed. “Look, you’re there too.”

She was pointing at the picture on the very first page, which was the group shot they had taken the year before. Draco was wearing one of Harry’s Christmas sweaters (he hoped that the picture wouldn’t remind Harry to demand it back) and Harry had put an arm around Draco. They looked rather awkward.

“Very subtle, Harry.” Lauren grinned at the two of them.

“That was just so we could all fit into the frame!” Harry ruffled his hair and grinned back, like he didn’t believe it himself.

Olivia turned the page. The next photograph showed Harry, Draco and Olivia outside the pub. Draco had one arm in the air and Harry was apparently trying to pull it back down, which was quite hard for him, as he was considerably smaller. Olivia stood at the corner of the photograph, doubled over with laughter.

“That’s when you tried to hail an invisible night bus,” Lauren explained. “Didn’t work.”

Draco scoffed. “Yeah, because Harry _sabotaged_ me. You don’t even know what you missed out on!”

“I have no problem just leaving you here to wait for that bus this time,” said Harry with a grin.

But nobody reacted to that, because then Olivia turned the page and all the girls started cooing at once, leaning in as close as they could.

“Lauren!” Harry cried out indignantly, pulling the book away so they could have closer look. “You fucking stalker!”

Lauren was completely unfazed. “It’s our living room, right? Not my fault you threw yourself at each other in public.”

“That’s not what we did! God.”

“I just want to say that I feel like I kept getting _kidnapped_ that night,” said Draco with a stern look around. “So I take no responsibility for _any_ of that.”

He gestured down at the photograph of Harry and him on the air mattress, fully clothed but with their faces just inches apart and their legs entangled.

Their friends spent several agonising moments cooing over the photograph, but in the end, they had to move on if they wanted to look at them all, because there were a fuck-ton others after that one.

Draco really had to hand it to Lauren – she had a knack for catching people in the silent moments, the ones during which they felt unobserved. Also, Draco would have to kill Lauren.

Smack in the middle of the book, there it was. The worst photo of them all – Harry pinning him to the ground at Lauren’s gym. Maybe a second before Draco’s mouth had betrayed him.

“Lauren! That wasn’t exactly a moment that needs to be remembered!”

“Yeah, that’s really embarrassing,” Harry agreed. “How is Draco supposed to intimidate people anymore when they’ve seen how pathetic he looks here?”

“First of all, how _dare_ you?” Draco managed to poke his side once before Harry grabbed his hand and held it tight, laughing right in his face.

“Nothing but the truth, Malfoy.”

And now Draco would definitely have to start taking kick-boxing lessons.

But then Harry leaned into him and kissed his cheek softly, slipping his hand into Draco’s under the table, and Draco decided that he could stand to put him on probation first.

Because he wasn’t a hot-headed moron who felt the need to settle all his differences with his fists.


	55. Shut Up, This Is Love [Sunday, December 25th 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments: Fan, night, Zezily, Superfan1224, hush_over_the_night, WildvanillaRose, FakeAndGay, illindalenti, You_Wish, GaySquidBoy, allhailthehales, AlluraBelle, kylorrren, PrimeMinisterofEverything, legolit, Slytherinz_Ghost, filidoune, De_Borah, ThatBoringOne, XOX_Eternity_XOX and hitomu! 😊
> 
> So, it’s come to my attention that you think something’s going to happen soon. Don’t you trust me? 🥺 Well, jokes on you, because this chapter may actually give you diabetes.
> 
> Title: Air Traffic Controller – This Is Love (Honestly, there are so many good chapter titles in there!)

When Draco woke up, he was lying on the air mattress once again – only this time he still remembered how he’d ended up there.

The daylight was blinding him even with both eyes closed, so he turned over onto his stomach, hiding his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry plopped a cold hand onto Draco’s arm in response, clearly too sleepy to do anything more, and Draco shivered slightly.

“So cute,” Olivia whispered. There was giggling.

Draco groaned and Harry rearranged his arm so it was draped over the side of Draco’s head, shielding his ear against the noise. It seemed that Draco would have to start calling him ‘ _The Saviour’_ unironically now. It was a small price to pay for blessed silence. There was a small voice in his head that warned him about the potential threat of photos being taken, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to care at the moment.

They were pushed upwards when Lauren and Olivia evidently sat down at their feet. Draco flinched as somebody tickled his foot. He folded up his legs to get them out of reach, and Harry pulled him closer. Maybe he thought Draco had flinched because was about to fall off the edge.

“Make them go away,” muttered Draco.

“Go away,” said Harry sleepily.

The giggling was back. There had _never_ been giggling on Christmas, not at the Manor (where everybody spoke sedately) and _certainly_ not at the Trauma Ward (where people usually cried or screamed at each other). The giggling was all _Potter’s_ fault. Him and his bloody cheerful friends.

“We _are_ going out for a run,” said Lauren with an audible grin. “You coming?”

Draco breathed out heavily, which was as close to a laugh as he could muster right now. “Fat chance,” he muttered.

But Harry sighed and turned onto his back with a low groan. “I hate you,” he said tonelessly. “Both of you.”

“ _No_ ,” mumbled Draco, moving away so he could see Harry’s face. “What the fuck are you _talking_ about?”

“I’ve got to go with them. It’s the sensible thing to do.”

“ _You_ are not sensible. You are completely irresponsible all the time.”

Harry sat up and sighed. “I wish. But I can’t practice properly because of ... you know ...” Harry balled up his right fist almost incidentally, which _was_ healing, but still caused him some pain after the scar removal. “Matt keeps glaring at me and McCarthy is getting cocky. I need to stay active somehow.”

“But not on _Christmas_.”

Lauren and Olivia were watching them, dressed in skin tight sports clothes and both grinning. Draco was suddenly aware that he was lying awfully close to Harry. He felt retrospectively ashamed for cuddling with him while the girls were watching. Draco wouldn’t exactly invite them into his bedroom, after all. He sat up too, making all of them sway a little from the motion.

“You _could_ come with us,” said Harry with a daring grin. “Some exercise certainly won’t hurt.”

“Me and Aurelius get _plenty_ of exercise, thank you very much.”

Harry rolled off the mattress (making all of them sink in deeper) and then grinned at him even more, kneeling on the ground. “Walking is not exercise.”

“I can’t go running in my jeans,” said Draco reasonably. “Too bad.”

But of course there was no reasoning with Harry fucking Potter. He just continued grinning and said, “That’s not a problem. I’ve got some sports clothes here.”

Draco raised one eyebrow very pointedly. “ _Your_ clothes won’t fit _me_.”

Harry practically leaped to his feet. “ _Trust_ me, they will.”

“Don’t you dare!” called Draco after him, but he had already disappeared into what had to be the bedroom. Draco turned to face the girls. “ _Why_ do you subject yourselves to this menace? There must be less annoying people for you to befriend.”

Lauren laughed, stood up and offered him a hand. “Never gets boring with him around, right?”

Draco just sighed and let her be pull him to his feet.

Harry returned a few seconds later and threw something at him. Draco managed to catch one of the items, but the second completely missed him and hit Lauren in the chest. Both girls shook their heads in silent criticism of Harry’s non-existing throwing skills.

 _Draco_ shook his head too, because he had just unfolded the _thing_ he’d caught. It was Harry’s old red and gold Quidditch shirt – long-sleeved with the Gryffindor crest on the front and his last name on the back.

“ _Absolutely_ not.”

“It’s just a shirt.”

“It’s probably _illegal_ for me to wear this,” said Draco, holding it between two fingers and as far away from his body as possible.

“What’s wrong with it?” Olivia snatched it from him and held it out in front of her.

“I like it,” said Lauren. “Strong animal, strong colours. Gets you into the mood for running.”

“Draco belonged to a different house at school. There was a _slight_ rivalry between his and mine.”

“The more I learn about your past, the more it sounds like a strange version of Romeo and Juliet,” said Olivia.

“Yeah,” said Lauren. “Only that _they_ weren’t the ones fighting each other, right? Only their families.”

“Who?” asked Draco before he could stop himself.

Lauren and Olivia both looked at Harry, like he was the one responsible for Draco’s ignorance. To be fair, Harry really _should_ tell Draco about the things Muggles deemed common knowledge.

“You _did_ go to the same school, right?” asked Lauren.

Draco took the clothes from her and vanished into the bathroom before he could further embarrass himself. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to find that Harry’s old clothes fit him _perfectly_. That cheating, magic-abusing bastard.

~o~

The good thing about running was that there was no chance to talk – well, in theory.

There certainly wasn’t one for _Draco_ , but the other three were chatting away beside him easily, while Draco had trouble breathing through the stitches in his sides. Draco actually suspected that they weren’t even running at full speed but restraining themselves for his sake. After only ten minutes he was already wishing he could just drop to the ground and stay there until they circled back to pick him up.

Draco almost got his wish when he tripped over something hidden beneath the shallow fog just a minute later. He made a startled noise and crashed to the ground, landing hard on his hands and knees.

“ _Draco!_ ” yelled Olivia.

Lauren and Harry both grabbed one of his arms and lifted him up easily, but as soon as he was back on his feet, there was a sharp pain in his left ankle, and Draco had to lean on Harry for support. Together they limped over to the nearest dwarf wall, where Draco sat down and Harry knelt at his feet, placing a hand against his ankle.

Draco grimaced and said under his breath, “That’s sprained.”

“Are you injured?” asked Olivia, biting her lower lip as she and Lauren came to stand on either side of Harry.

Which was really rather inconvenient, because now Draco couldn’t take his wand out of his pocket and fix it. Why did he have to accept Harry’s stupid shirt? If the sleeves weren’t so tight, he could have concealed his wand there and handled this in a second.

“Nothing a little hands-on healing can’t fix,” said Draco as lightly as possible, brushing some gravel from his palms and then indicating Harry’s hand at his ankle.

Callum had talked about hands-on healing last Christmas, so Draco assumed it was alright to mention around Muggles.

Harry looked up at him with a frown. His fingers twitched slightly and Draco could feel the tip of his wand, hidden inside his sleeve, pressing against Draco’s ankle. Draco nodded just the tiniest bit and Harry smiled back way too enthusiastically for someone who was supposed to be _worried_ about his boyfriend.

Draco’s ankle became very hot and then very cold underneath Harry’s hand before the temperature normalised and the pain subsided. Draco stretched out his leg and rolled his ankle experimentally. Everything seemed to be back in order and he gave Harry an approving look, causing him to light up like a fairy tree.

“I’ll live. Provided we can go back and eat something now.”

“You didn’t fall on _purpose_ , right?” said Lauren, narrowing her eyes at him. “Just so you won’t have to run anymore?”

Harry pulled him to his feet and then slung an arm around his shoulders. His voice was dripping with sarcasm when he said, “ _Draco_ fake an injury to get what he wants? _Never_!”

They actually _did_ walk back to the girls’ apartment, but once they were there, Lauren insisted on teaching him how to fall _‘correctly’_ , and no amount of arguing made her back down, which was why Draco spent the next half hour being pushed by Olivia and attempting something Lauren called a _‘judo roll’_ while Harry sat atop their kitchen counter, snacked on dry cornflakes and shouted really unhelpful advice.

~o~

It was almost eleven at night when they returned from the Weasleys. Draco, who was stuffed to the gills and already half asleep, dropped onto his couch with a low groan. His eyes shut of their own accord.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to survive the next decades of Weasley Christmases. Tonight had already been strenuous enough, with all the talking and laughing and screaming. And that was with just two children present (three-year-old Victoire and one-month old Rose). Draco was under no illusion that it would get much, much worse. Percy’s first child was scheduled for March, and Bill and Fleur had announced their second pregnancy this very night. He didn’t really want to know how many more that family had in store.

“So, let’s just presume all of them had as many children as their parents,” said Draco slowly, eyes still closed to help with the thinking. “Then that’s six times seven … please tell me I’m wrong when I say that would _be forty-two_ babies? That _can’t_ be right, can it?”

Harry chuckled. “The math checks out, I’m afraid. Although I doubt that Charlie’s going to have any children. I don’t think he’s interested in anything like that.”

Draco’s eyes flew open just as Harry tossed him a squishy package that hit him square in the face. Fortunately for him, it was very light and soft.

“Let me guess,” Draco said, feeling the present and grinning at him. “Is it a another Weasley sweater?” Not that he needed another one. He was already wearing the newest addition.

Harry shrugged and straightened his own new sweater (grey with tiny white falcons). “Only one way to find out.”

Draco opened the present, holding it above his face so he wouldn’t have to sit up. There was a soft rustle as silver fabric flowed out onto his chest. He picked it up and let it glide through his fingers, unable to comprehend.

Draco stared at Harry, who was busying himself with stoking the fire. As if it weren’t awfully hot in there already.

“That’s not –”

“Yep.”

“Why would you – “

“Because you need one. We don’t fit under mine together. You’re too tall. You freak.”

“Not all of us can be midgets,” said Draco in an attempt to buy more time before he had to voice an adequate reaction. “Do you have any idea how _expensive_ these things are?”

“Well, seeing as I just bought one …” Harry lifted Draco’s legs and placed them across his own after he’d sat down beside him. “So, you’d better carry that with you.”

“You’re the worst, Potter,” said Draco accusingly. He draped the Cloak over his left arm and watched it vanish. “That’s really inconsiderate of you. How am I supposed to ever keep up with that?”

Harry just grinned down at him and leaned his head back against the cushions. “You’ll just have to live with the knowledge that I’ll forever be out-boyfriending you.”

“Now I wish I’d bought you a dictionary,” Draco said with a groan. “Alright, let’s get this over with so I can finally sleep.”

“You’re the embodiment of Christmas cheer,” said Harry, stifling a yawn himself.

Draco pulled the shrunken package out of his pocket and plopped it onto Harry’s stomach.

“ _Really_? You’re not even going to unshrink it for me? After I protected you from that tiger tart?”

“You mean the one you stole off my plate when I wasn’t watching?”

“Technicalities,” muttered Harry. He returned the present to its original size and unwrapped it while Draco pretended not to care about his reaction.

There were a few seconds of silence during which Harry held the contents up and examined them from all sides. Then he dropped them and turned to look at Draco, who was keeping his eyes on the Cloak.

“Alright, what’s wrong with my pants?”

“Why would something be wrong with them?” said Draco, playing innocent.

“You wouldn’t give me a pair of pants for Christmas if nothing were wrong with mine.”

“There are also the socks, mind you.”

“Even weirder,” said Harry, unfolding them to have a closer look. He ran a finger over the tiny golden Snitch embossed at the top. “Alright, gotta be honest. I don’t get hidden meanings. You’ll have to spell it out for me.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Draco. “You could just try them on, you know?”

The look Harry gave him was outright suspicious, but Harry did it anyways. It took less than five seconds before the expression on his face shifted to pure bliss, and then he actually groaned and melted back into the couch.

“ _God_ ,” he muttered. “Did I ever tell you that I love you?”

Draco grinned. The Cloak was long forgotten – Harry’s face was much more interesting. “Not in so many words, but I think I got the gist of it.”

“Well, I do about twenty percent more now. I’ll _never_ take these off again.”

Draco snorted. “You’ll have to, because I’ll definitely like you twenty percent _less_ if you only wear the same pair of socks – and pants, if I know you – from now on.”

“I’ll just buy another twenty pairs.” Harry stretched his legs and placed his feet on Draco’s coffee table. Raised in a barn, that man. “God, that’s amazing. Where did you get these?”

“I had them custom-made. Remember when I went to Slughorn’s party? Well, I had a nice little chat with Amara Giordano, that girl who wants to become Healer for the Italian national team. And I told her about what to look out for, the most common fractures, the possibility of hypothermia after hours in the cold, the usual. And she said what a shame it was that charmed Quidditch gear was banned, or else people could just place warming charms on their robes.”

“Sadists, the lot of them,” Harry grumbled.

“Well, I checked the rule books a million times,” Draco continued. “And then I asked the Ministry for written confirmation. As it turns out, they list every last inch of your body that you’re not allowed to cover with charmed clothing. And there’s nothing in the rules against covering your feet.”

“And this?” Harry held up the pants.

“That too.” Draco grinned. “Now I know for certain that you’ll be thinking of _me_ every time you get all tingly and warm down there.”

He was rewarded with a pair of pants in his face and Harry’s laughter ringing through the room. There was a bark from upstairs and then the sound of paws on wooden stairs. A warm and fuzzy feeling spread out from Draco’s heart, like he was under a warming spell as well.

“You didn’t have to give me these to know _that_.” Harry leaned over to kiss him softly and then stayed like that with their foreheads touching. “But thank you, really. Can’t wait to not freeze my butt off next season.”

Draco grinned and took Harry’s injured hand into his own to massage it slowly. “Who’s out-boyfriending whom now?”

Harry ruffled his hair and leaned back before Draco could retaliate. “Now you’re just making up words, Malfoy.”


	56. Hide and Seek [Saturday, December 31st 2005]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to: Fan, SHkatty, Fandomwarriorqueen, Slytherinz_Ghost, XOX_Eternity_XOX, hush_over_the_night, OrangeColouredPencils, allhailthehales, Justforthedead, illindalenti, ThatBoringOne, filidoune, linellin, kylorrren and Zezily. 😊
> 
> Title: Imogen Heap - Hide and Seek

After nine months with the Falmouth Falcons, Draco was an expert at mending bones. Which came in handy now, because winter was _the_ time for broken bones.

People slipped on ice. People fell from ladders while trying to arrange their Christmas decoration. People ignored the weather reports and played Quidditch during snow storms. People were _idiots_ , which was why Draco had done nothing but heal bones for seven and a half whole hours.

Draco was bored.

He stared down at his chart and considered whether A. Perkins (age 45, broken femur) or A. R. Perkins (age 21, broken tibia and fibula) was in more urgent need of care. If he was being honest, both of them could stand to wait a few more hours. Who the fuck could be so stupid as to play a game of four on four Quidditch with double the Bludgers and no Beaters? A family of _idiots_ tipsy on champagne, that was who!

With a sigh, Draco raised his wand to touch it to the father’s name.

“I’ve got it,” Nash appeared at his side, clearly just starting her shift. Her hands were still busy gathering all her hair on top of her head. “I just overheard two of the mediwitches talking about a _mysterious_ Quidditch star who’s on their way here.”

Draco frowned.

Tabitha Woods stepped up at Draco’s other side and took the son’s case with a touch of her wand. “Not one of mine,” she said with a sympathetic look at Draco. “ _They_ know better than to schedule practice on New Year’s Eve. And on a Saturday, on top of that.”

“Great.” Draco groaned. “Mine are all suicidal, pig-headed morons.”

“Two galleons says it’s their reserve Keeper,” Nash said. “Concussion.”

“My gold’s on Potter,” Woods said. “But I’m also guessing concussion.”

They both looked at Draco expectantly.

“Whoever it is, they’d better not have anything major,” Draco grumbled. “I’ve got less than half an hour left.”

Woods elbowed Draco in the side playfully. “Come on, take a guess.”

Draco sighed and reminded himself to stay on his colleagues’ good side. Besides, it probably wasn’t Harry – his hand was _still_ acting up from the scar removal, so he wouldn’t have left the ground.

“Fine. McCarthy with a head lac.”

They looked down at their charts and waited while patients kept whining about either wanting to leave right away to do some last-minute party preparations or wanting to stay for a few days, at least until their in-laws were gone.

Then Draco’s chart alone lit up as a name appeared in bright red ink. The girls leaned in from both sides to read it.

Nash sighed and made her way over to her own patient. Woods pumped the air and grinned at him. Draco groaned.

Why did it always have to be _his_ idiot? Why did he think Harry would sit this one out?

At least it wasn’t an emergency.

Draco could’ve found the right treatment room even if it hadn’t been noted on his chart. A small group of mediwitches and one mediwizard stood outside, whispering excitedly. One of them kept running a hand through her hair. Another was clutching a quill and a scrap of paper to her chest. Definitely fresh out of the Healing Academy, that bunch. They behaved like they had never met a famous person before.

“That’s enough,” Draco said in his smoothest, coldest voice. “Don’t you all have patients?”

The looks Draco received were subdued, though he was certain that they would be staring daggers at him as soon as he turned his back.

“And tie up your hair when you’re working,” Draco added. “Didn’t you read the guidelines?”

It wasn’t much better inside the treatment room. Three mediwitches were huddled around Harry in his soggy Quidditch robes. One of them was dabbing at a wound on his forehead very, very carefully. Another was trying to disguise stroking his hair as an attempt at keeping it out of the wound. The third seemed rooted to the spot. Draco could see why – Harry was frowning at her with a dopey look on his face.

“ _Alright_ , I’ve got it.”

All three of them flinched slightly when they noticed him in the door.

“ _Draaaay!_ ” Harry announced.

That mediwitch he was still looking at giggled and then turned completely red. Draco held the door open for them. Two of the witches left reluctantly, but the one cleaning Harry’s wound stayed put. Draco raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m not finished here,” she said defiantly, cleaning her towel in a bowl of water demonstratively.

He indicated the door, where a small cluster of people seemed to have gathered yet again. “I’m a fully certified Healer. I think I can manage a spell to clean a head wound. Which – as you should very well know – is definitely more hygienic than what you’re doing.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said stiffly, dropping her towel into the bowl and walking out without looking at him.

The door snapped shut and Draco locked it with a wave of his wand as Harry snorted.

“No need t’ call me _‘Sir’_ , Prof.”

Draco cast a strong heating charm before he dropped down on the examination chair. Even charmed underwear could only do so much. Harry shivered violently and then relaxed, blinking up at him.

“You didn’t have to bash your head in just to visit me,” Draco said while cleaning the wound with a quick spell. “I was going to pick you up at eight, remember? Couldn’t you have endured five more hours without me?”

Harry swatted at his arm half-heartedly. Draco checked him for a concussion, found nothing, and then closed the wound in a matter of seconds.

Harry tried to sit up at once, but Draco pushed him back with a firm hand on his chest. “Stay down for a few minutes, you idiot.”

Draco accio-ed a jar of arnica and began dabbing it onto his temple.

Harry crossed his arms but obliged. “You _know_ who’s an idiot? Our new reserve Beater. Couldn’t even hold on to his bat properly.”

“He threw a bat at your face?” Draco grinned and turned Harry’s head with two fingers at his jaw to get a better view from another angle.

“He claims he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore because of the cold.”

Draco snorted and finished his treatment. “Well, that’s something you complain about all the time too. Though I doubt his hands have ever been as cold as yours.”

“I’m not going to hold his hand to prove a point.”

“I would bloody well think not.” Draco took Harry’s arm to pull him into a sitting position and then watched him for dizziness. “So, _why_ were you at practice? Just this morning you were complaining about your wrist.”

“It was spontaneous. Just a short practice to get to know the new guy. We _barely_ even left the ground.”

Harry took off his Quidditch ring and stuffed it into an inside pocket of his robes. Then he drew his wand to dry himself off completely. He seemed perfectly fine, now that he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“And …?”

Harry gave him a fleeting look and ruffled his hair, which usually was a terrible idea but slightly improved his look in this case.

“He was driving me mad with his fussing,” muttered Harry. “He kept sending me owls to recommend experimental healing techniques and wrist exercises and weird salves. My kitchen was starting to resemble an owlery.”

“So you told him to stop and that you’ve got a Healer already?”

Harry cleared his throat. “So I told him I’m feeling better already.”

Draco flicked his lightning scar. “ _Why_ are you such an idiot sometimes?”

“ _What_?” said Harry in a very defensive tone. “It _is_ better than it was two weeks ago.”

“It’s not good enough that you can make your Coach believe you’d be able to play a match tomorrow, you moron.”

Harry pushed his shoulder lightly. “Alright, fair warning: I’m like two insults away from reminding you why it is like that.”

And, okay, maybe Draco should have anticipated that all the dark magic hidden in the scar had to go somewhere, but still. Harry had practically strong-armed him into experimenting on him, right?

“That’s emotional manipulation.” Draco was only a _little_ bit impressed.

Harry just gave him an unimpressed shrug. “Must be your influence.”

“Alright, tell you what,” Draco said, ruffling Harry’s hair back into its natural chaotic state (the one it had before that _floosy_ had buried her filthy hands in it), “If you go home and rest for a few hours, I’ll still pick you up at eight for the party.”

Harry pulled him closer by hooking his fingers into Draco’s pockets. “You’re too good for me.”

Draco smirked down at him and brushed a streak of dirt from his cheek. “Clearly.”

Harry was getting closer. His green eyes kept flicking down to Draco’s lips. “So, thanks for patching me up, I guess.”

Draco leaned in as well and brushed their lips together. “Anytime,” he whispered.

Harry put both hands inside Draco’s pockets and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak from the right one. “ _Also_ , I’m borrowing this.”

Draco pushed his shoulder playfully. “And here I thought you only wanted my body.”

“I do want your body –” Harry said, vanishing beneath Draco’s Cloak, “– as a human shield. Walk me out?”

“Fine,” Draco said, smiling softly. Merlin, he was so gone. “But only because I’m feeling generous today. Blame it on the season.”

Hastily, he schooled his features back into something more professional and vanished the bloody towel. No use giving those lunatics something to build a shrine for.

“I’d rather blame my incredible charm and good looks.”

“Don’t bother,” Draco said, opening the door halfway.

The original group of newbies was back, clutching their quills and various articles of merchandise. At least none of them was wearing their hair loose anymore, though all of them seemed to have improved their hair styles. Even the sole mediwizard had done something – maybe some gel?

Draco looked around one, and all of them took a few tentative steps back. He felt Harry squeeze by and closed the door behind himself before anybody had a chance to notice the room was empty.

“What are all of you standing around for? Potter needs some rest, and you need to make yourselves useful for a change.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed into his ear as the crowd dispersed. “They look like you just cancelled Christmas.”

“ _Pathetic_ ,” Draco mumbled back. “They really need to work on their bedside manners. Let’s get you out of here.”

They had barely made it halfway through the Trauma Ward when somebody called “ _Draco!_ ” and he felt Harry take a hasty step back as Tabitha Woods rushed over to them.

Draco kept walking towards the exit, causing her to fall into step with him. “Just a small head wound,” he said casually.

“Oh, so no concussion then?” Tabitha disentangled a festive red and white ribbon from her braid and started working her hair loose. “Guess we were both right, then.”

“Let’s make sure Nash won’t forget it.”

They were at the exit now. Draco reached for the door.

“ _So!_ ” Tabitha said very suddenly, startling him.

Draco looked at her expectantly, but she seemed to have forgotten what she was about to say. She dropped her hair tie and turned pink. She nearly didn’t catch it when she summoned it back into her hand.

“So ...” she repeated, taking a deep breath. “Do you have plans tonight? Because, I’m, _like_ , meeting some friends for, _like_ , drinks and games and I could, _like_ , bring you along, if you wanted to.”

“Oh,” Draco said, turning towards her now. She was _definitely_ red now. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m meeting some friends tonight. Maybe another time?”

Tabitha nodded profusely and turned away to face the door. “Yeah, no problem! It’s fine! It’s just, _like_ , I know you worked New Year’s Eve most years, so I just assumed you likely didn’t have plans ... But you do, so it’s all good. Another time.”

And then she was gone before Draco could even begin to formulate a response. He followed after her, wondering if Harry was still there, when the latter grabbed his arm and squeezed it.

“‘ _Another time’?_ ” Harry whispered. Draco could hear his grin without even having to see him. “You wanna tell me something?”

“Like what?”

“Like that you’re planning on breaking up with me so you can go on a date with Woods?”

Draco scoffed. “Date? That’s not what she was asking.”

“Did you listen to what she was saying?” Harry laughed. “She asked you out on New Year’s Eve. That’s a date.”

“ _You_ invited me to your Christmas pub crawl _and_ the New Year’s Eve party at the Burrow last year!”

“ _Exactly!_ ”

“So what, that were dates as well?”

“If only.” Harry kissed Draco’s cheek and added sweetly, “Face it, you lost the bet. I’ll be cashing it in soon. And you’d better pick me up at eight sharp or I’ll think you left me for Woods.”

The Invisibility Cloak rustled softly and Draco knew he was gone. He went back inside to finish up his paperwork and see if there was anything else left to be done before he could leave as well.

~o~

“Who the fuck just blue shelled me?!”

Lauren threw her hands up in a rage and nearly smashed her controller into Callum’s face, who was sitting on the couch behind her.

“Can’t have been me,” said Ella immediately. “You know I’m colour-blind.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get blue shells or use them!”

“You’re colour-blind?” Draco, who was sitting on the floor between Lauren and Harry, turned around to have a look at Ella. “So is that why you’re always dressed like that?”

“Like _what_?” said Ella, eyes still firmly fixed to the screen and obviously supressing a grin.

“Like you’re colour-blind,” said Draco with a smirk, looking her up and down.

And really, he should have guessed it. Because which person with actually functioning eyes wore pink jeans with a turquoise sweater and multi-coloured fabric bracelets?

“Watch were you’re driving.” Harry, who couldn’t play himself because of his hand, leaned into Draco and shifted his thumb on the controller thing.

Draco turned back around and found his character (some pink and blonde princess, because Harry thought he was _funny_ ) stuck in front of a column. Ah well, it wasn’t like he could fall any more behind in the standings.

“Back to the blue shelling,” said Lauren through gritted teeth, leaning forward.

Maybe that _did_ make her cart go faster? Draco wouldn’t be surprised if Harry had just told him otherwise to sabotage him. He leaned forward as well – just the tiniest bit, so Harry couldn’t laugh at him. He couldn’t say if it worked, because then he hit a banana peel. This game made exactly zero sense. Draco loved it.

“I only had that stupid coin,” said Ella.

“Wasn’t me either,” Olivia added cheerfully.

“Draco?” Lauren’s voice was dangerously low, but almost a year of being Harry Potter’s boyfriend had pretty much desensitised him.

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Means you fired a blue shell at me and completely effed up my winning streak,” said Lauren as her tiny red-hatted Italian character crossed the finish line just after Ella, who was playing some kind of pink mushroom – which, again, made _much_ more sense if you knew she was colour-blind.

“Effed?” Harry was grinning broadly. “Since when are _you_ against swearing?”

“It’s my New Year’s resolution,” said Lauren simply. “I’m trying to get a head start, so I don’t fuck it up immediately.”

Olivia giggled. “Lor –”

“Ah fuck, I did it again.” Lauren groaned.

“You said it earlier as well,” supplied Harry helpfully.

She tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. “God, it’s going to be impossible. Just kill me now.”

“Why are you even trying?” Draco asked while trying to get out of a sandy whirlpool. That wasn’t a real thing for Muggles, right?

“My nonna hates swearing. There’s always a lecture when she catches me doing it.”

“Her lectures really are something,” added Olivia, putting her controller down as well.

“Ever since my mum died, she has this idea that she’s responsible for my behaviour. And once you get her going, she’s impossible to shut up.”

“ _Almost_ ,” said Olivia, raising her index finger. “It works to pretend you’re hungry. Then she’ll immediately forget about telling you off and go to cook something for you.”

“That’s all well and good, but I can only eat so much spaghetti, Liv! Someday I’ll fucking explode.”

“Maybe we should make that into our drinking game,” said Callum, flicking Lauren’s ponytail so it swung back and forth. “Every time someone gets called out for swearing, he or she has to take a shot.”

“Really think we’ll fall for that?” said Lauren, frowning at him over her shoulder. “You teach primary school, Cal. We all know you can hold yourself back. Just admit you’re waiting for a chance to get back at me for last year’s sharpie moustache.”

Callum just shrugged, his expression never wavering. “Mostly I want to see how many shots it will take until Draco starts to forget he’s supposed to be proper and just let’s Harry snog him in front of everyone again. That was entertaining.”

Scandalised, Draco pointed a finger at him and exclaimed, “That’s such a Gryffindor motive!” at the same time as Harry laughed and said, “Wow, you’re such a Slytherin.”

They narrowed their eyes at each other, and then Lauren asked with a big, dirty grin, “Why does it feel like the two of you just managed to both insult Callum _and_ each other?”

“Shush,” said Harry, waving a hand at her while maintaining eye contact with Draco. “The grown-ups are talking.”

“Not everybody who ever plots something has to be a Slytherin.”

“Most of them are.”

“Wanting people to behave indecently for your own amusement is something a Gryffindor would do.”

Ella leaned in between them from behind. “ _What_ type of house system does your school use? Did you have to take a quiz first? That doesn’t sound very feasible.”

“Shush, Ravenclaw,” said Harry.

Draco thought on it for a second and then shrugged. “Fine with me. She _does_ try to apply whacky movie psychology on a regular.”

“I think it sounds like fun,” said Lauren, cracking her knuckles. “I’d have loved to hang out with people like me when I was in school. The people in my class were all boring.”

“That’s because you’re a Gryffindor,” said Draco matter-of-factly. “And Olivia –“

Harry cut in immediately. “Puff.”

Satisfied, Draco nodded. “Obviously.”

Olivia beamed at them, even though she couldn’t possibly know what that said about her. She was probably just glad they weren’t arguing because of her. Such a Hufflepuff trait.

“We were on the topic of drinking,” said Callum suddenly.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, who narrowed his eyes at him.

“Slytherins drink too.”

“Not excessively.”

Harry snorted. “Bill’s birthday?”

Draco sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Harry that he had been moping because of him. He had already given him way too much to be smug about.

“That didn’t count.”

“I don’t plan on drinking excessively,” cut Callum in. “I want to get you to do that.”

Now Harry was the one raising his eyebrows.

“Motion to leave the decision until we have acquired further information,” said Draco, entirely unwilling to give in but aware that Harry wouldn’t either.

“Gosh, Malfoy,” muttered Harry, jostling his shoulder. “I’m starting to think we should drink. I want to hear you say that sentence when you’re hammered.”

“You know I can do it,” said Draco with a grin. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted to take it slow this year.”

“So,” said Lauren, turning back to the TV and selecting another course. “Not that we’re not happy to have you here, but what gives? Don’t you usually celebrate New Year’s with your team? I thought that was your tradition.”

Harry tensed and tugged on a particularly curly lock of his hair. “I wasn’t really in the mood for a party.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to bump his shoulder lightly. “Things got a little out of hand last year. Besides, he really needs to start living healthily if he wants his career to last.”

“Humph,” made Harry. “At least I don’t think it’s a good idea to drink six espresso shots before doing my sport. Imagine having that little sense. Could only be worse if you were a doctor too, right?”

Draco nudged him again. With his elbow this time, and maybe more forcefully than before. Not his problem if Harry couldn’t take it and had to fall over to the side.

“So …” said Ella as Harry pulled himself up by Draco’s arm. “ _Was_ there a quiz before assigning houses?”

Draco shook his head and picked up his controller again. “There were stereotypes and confirmation bias.”

“What?” said Harry.

“Means people only notice what proves their assumptions right and miss the things that don’t. I could even make Luna a Slytherin if I tried hard enough.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a few seconds and Draco returned his attention to his cart-driving princess. He nearly drove straight off a rainbow when Harry suddenly slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his side.

He kissed Draco’s cheek, just a gentle touch of lips on skin, and whispered, “I’ve noticed plenty of you. All the things.”

Draco didn’t even care when his princess got eaten by some kind of ball with terrifyingly sharp teeth. He did care a little bit when Harry suddenly exclaimed, "Draco totally blue shelled you, by the way!"


	57. On Top of the World [Saturday, January 7th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting: kylorrren, filidoune, XOX_Eternity_XOX, OfShipsAndFandoms, Fan, Slytherinz_Ghost, wonderingwoman, WildvanillaRose, hush_over_the_night, Fandomwarriorqueen, illindalenti, windowcracks, HeadphonesChild, SHkatty, ThatBoringOne, Zezily, Justforthedead and BeaInspired! 😊
> 
> Also, please don't forget to get enough sleep 😉
> 
> Let’s see how Draco holds up with his betting debts!

“I hate you.” Draco stopped dead in his tracks as they rounded the farm house and a paddock came into view.

Harry grabbed both his shoulders from behind and pushed him forward. “Don’t say something you can’t take back.”

“I will not want to take it back.”

“Aw honey, don’t be like that,” Harry said heavily. “I know you love me at least as much as Tabitha Woods loves you.”

“So not at all? Also, what kind of person calls someone _‘honey’_?”

Harry squeezed his shoulders. “Someone who’s trying to be condescending?”

“Yes, I could tell.” Draco dug his feet into the ground to slow their progress. “Isn’t your hand still hurting?”

Harry snorted. “Nice try, but you examined it yourself, remember? I’m completely healed, thanks to you.”

“Starting to regret it,” muttered Draco, pushing back with much more force.

Harry leaned his weight into the next shove, but all he accomplished was tipping Draco over so that he landed on his hands and knees. Draco wiped his muddy hands on Harry’s washed-out jeans as punishment, but Harry didn’t even seem to care. He just grinned wickedly and pulled him up by his arm.

“Fainting won’t get you out of this. This is a debt of honour. I won the bet fair and square.”

“ _Did_ you, though?” Draco brushed the worst of the mud off his knees. “I’m still at least fifty percent sure that she just wanted to have dinner as friends.”

“Don’t be daft, Draco. I was there, remember?”

Draco _did_ , because Harry had recounted all those Tabitha incidents so often that Draco really _didn’t_ doubt her intent at all anymore. But he was free to choose some creative liberties, right? Harry certainly had when he had made this bet.

They came to stop right at the fence, behind which a whole herd of hippogriffs were gathered, all of them watching them intently.

“Even if she did, _this_ wasn’t what we agreed on. You said I’d have to go flying with you.”

“I never said what we’d be flying on,” Harry said smugly.

“Brooms were heavily implied!”

“It’s not my fault you lack imagination.”

“I’m more concerned about what I’ll be lacking if I come anywhere near those beasts.”

“Howdy!” The herd parted to reveal a woman in her thirties, dressed in jeans, flannel, boots and a cowboy hat. Her hair was parted into two braids. She joined them at the fence and shook Harry’s hand. “Harry and his friend, are ya?”

Harry pretended not to notice the look Draco gave him, or else he might have answered Draco’s unasked question, which was _‘Are you fucking kidding me?’_ Instead he grinned back at her and grabbed both of Draco’s shoulders again to present him to her. “That’s right! This is Draco. It’s his first time.”

Draco shook her hand reluctantly, never letting the beasts out of his sight.

“Name’s Maggy. And don’t ya worry, Draco. My ‘griffs are very well behaved. I’ve had hundreds of visitors over the years and ‘most all of them made it back down eventually.”

“ _Almost_ all of them?” Draco asked, taking a small step back and bumping into Harry, who held on to his shoulders. “What the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Ah well,” she said with a casual wave of her hand, “one of those douchebags never came back.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Flew off with one of the younger hippogriffs. Just stole it from right underneath my nose. Don’t do that, or I’ll sick the herd on you.” She drew her wand from somewhere inside her braid and twirled it with an exaggerated glare.

Draco ignored the threat (he wasn’t planning on acquiring one of those beasts anytime soon) and focused on the uplifting part. “So, he’s alive?”

“Oh yeah, ‘course he is! In prison, though. Bastard.”

“Stealing hippogriffs gets you sent to _prison_?”

“They’re classified triple-X, so you need a license to handle them.” Maggy fixed him with a stern look. “Why, are ya thinking ‘bout stealing one?”

Draco shook his head vehemently. “Quite the opposite. And I thought you said they were _harmless_!”

“Oh, they could _kill_ ya,” Maggy said enthusiastically. “Don’t ya ever forget that!”

“I _couldn’t_ if I _wanted_ to!”

“Yes, yes, understood.” Why Harry was still grinning as he said this, Draco would never understand. Or maybe he already did. This was _definitely_ payback. “Less talking, more flying.”

“Right!” Maggy agreed, patting the fence to indicate that they should hop over into the small and separate part of the paddock that was still empty. “Who wants to go first?”

“I _would_ ,” Harry said. “But I’m afraid Draco will use the opportunity to run off.”

She took one look at Draco and nodded. “Yeah, seems like. Come on then, Drake. Just do it.”

Draco was rooted to the spot. Logically, he knew that they probably wouldn’t attack him – nobody else but him had been attacked in third year and that had admittedly been at least partially his fault. But these _were_ dangerous beasts. And what if it was something about him that just set hippogriffs off? Maybe they didn’t like the shape of his nose or the colour of his hair? He couldn’t die in _America!_

“ _Scared_ , Malfoy?” Harry was taunting him. There was a smirk on his face that Draco was sure he had learned from him. The smug bastard!

“You wish.” There wasn’t much conviction in his own voice. He squared his shoulders and also his jaw and put one foot on the fence’s lowest board.

One of the bigger hippogriffs ruffled its feathers and Draco froze, indicating the beast with a nod. “I’m not touching _that_ one.”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry said, placing both hands on Draco’s bottom and pushing him upwards.

Draco only just managed to hold on to a fence post as his whole lower body went over the top and landed on the other side. Still clinging to the post, he glared at Harry, who just grinned at him.

“You seemed to have trouble climbing the fence.”

“I’m currently on the fence about _murdering_ you.”

“Sure. But do that afterwards, I want to see you fly first.”

Draco wiped his hands on his jeans (which made his hands even dirtier than they had been) and took a tentative look around the herd. He finally settled on the smallest one, a creature with blindingly white feathers and an almost golden (and also very tiny) beak.

“That one looks alright,” he said pointing at it.

“Oh, you’ve got quick eyes,” Maggy said enthusiastically, unleashing the hippogriff and leading it over to his own small paddock. “She’s the alpha, Nivaria.”

Harry laughed. Draco lost full control over his facial features. Maggy patted the alpha’s beak, which didn’t look all that small anymore.

“Maybe I should start with another one then?” Draco said. “I don’t want to be attacked by all of them at once just because their _boss_ doesn’t like me.”

“Nah, don’t worry.” Maggy opened the gate that connected his small paddock and the bigger one with all the hippogriffs in it. “ _They_ won’t attack you. She can handle herself.”

“ _Great!_ ” Draco pressed out. He didn’t know when he had moved away, but his back was pressed against the fence now. Harry squeezed his shoulders from behind and Draco flinched at the sudden contact.

“Relax,” Harry said in what he probably thought of as his soothing voice. He didn’t _have_ one.

“Don’t worry,” Maggy repeated. “I’ll lead her in now, just a few feet. Just stay calm. Once she’s inside, you’ll have to bow your head and wait to see if she bows too.”

“ _Sure!_ ” Draco let out a shaky breath. Harry didn’t comment on the squeakiness of his voice, which was actually quite considerate.

Nivaria approached. Draco froze. The hippogriff seemed to be glaring at him, and he was sure that one of her talons was twitching nervously. There simply was no way in hell that he was going to expose his neck to that thing.

“You need to bow,” Maggy said casually. She didn’t seem nervous at all.

Draco should’ve checked her for talon- or beak-shaped scars beforehand. He certainly wouldn’t do that _now_. Only an idiot would look away from a hippogriff facing them.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry said encouragingly. “Just do it. I’ll watch your back.”

“Going to Expelliarmus a hippogriff, are you?”

“Hey,” Harry said indignantly. “I Expelliarmus-ed old V-mort, right? He was easily five X’s … what’s the word for that?”

“Quintuple,” supplied Maggy.

“ _V-mort?_ ” Draco said, unable to contain the grin tugging at his lips. His eyes were still glued to Nivaria’s.

“Yeah, why not? I think we’re at that level by now.” Harry squeezed his shoulders again and then let go. “Also, that’s the first time _you’ve_ almost said his name. What’s that, like ... _V-o-l_ ... hang on ...” Harry was counting on his fingers now, “five out of nine ... that’s like more than fifty percent? Which means you can round that right up to a hundred, basically.”

“ _Right_ ...” Draco said, only listening to Harry’s mental acrobatics with half an ear. He was still hung up on the part where he’d actually almost said the _Dark Lord’s_ name. If he could do that, he could bow to a stupid low-grade hippogriff.

Besides … getting clawed by a hippogriff wasn’t as bad as being Crucio-ed – Draco knew that from experience. And it certainly couldn’t be worse than the ridicule he would be subjected to if he chickened out now. Draco bowed his head like his father had shown him some twenty years ago – respectful but _still_ dignified and _certainly_ not submissive.

Maggy whistled lightly and said, “Well, if that wasn’t fancy!”

“He’s a posh git,” Harry supplied helpfully. Draco tried to kick him in the shin, but seeing as he couldn’t turn away from the hippogriff, he only hit the fence.

“Oooh, she really liked that!” Maggy sounded more excited than ever.

Draco chanced a look as Nivaria bowed down to him with more grace than he would have deemed possible for a savage beast like her.

“Go on,” Maggy said. “You can touch her now.”

Draco didn’t want to touch her. That was the part that had gone wrong a decade ago. He _also_ really didn’t want _Harry_ to come in and do it better than him. He took a few steps forward and raised his hand. It was shaking considerably, which was the only reason he placed it on Nivaria’s head immediately. He’d rather risk her peck than let Harry bloody Potter see that he was afraid. Nivaria’s feathers were firm but smooth and she didn’t object to being touched by him. Draco called that progress.

“Great!” Maggy said. “Hop on!”

“ _Hop on?_ ” Draco repeated. “Already?”

“Yeah! If she’d wanted to attack, she’d have done it by now.”

“Great. That’s reassuring.”

“Come on!” She grabbed his arm and ‘gently’ dragged him to where she was standing beside Nivaria. The hippogriff lowered herself to the ground immediately.

Draco felt like turning around to glare at Harry, but he was worried it would look more like a child seeking reassurance from its mother. It couldn’t be so bad, right? Harry had done it at the age of thirteen! And he would be safe from Nivaria’s talons and beak, at least. There was still the risk of falling, but that didn’t scare him that much – he’d been only five years old when his parents had hired his first flying instructor.

Maggy showed him where to place his feet and before he even knew it, Draco was sitting atop an alpha hippogriff. Oh joy.

“Giddyap!” Maggy yelled and Nivaria rose up, spread her wings and took off before Draco could even protest.

He just managed to grab the harness tied around her neck and hang on to it for dear life. He would’ve screamed if he could, but it felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. This was nothing like flying on a broomstick! It was wobbly and unpredictable, and Draco just wanted it to end already.

It didn’t seem to end. They completed three rounds around the farm and then hovered overhead, Nivaria’s powerful wings nearly unseating him whenever they completed another stroke. Draco cast a glance down and instantly wished he hadn’t. If he fell now, he’d land directly in the herd of remaining hippogriffs. Somehow, he doubted they would take kindly to that.

“You can land now,” Draco said feebly, glad that they wouldn’t be able to hear him down below. Nivaria acted like she hadn’t heard him either.

Then there was another shout of “Giddyap!” and Harry shot by them not a second later, sitting atop an enormous hippogriff with feathers as dark as his hair. Nivaria let out an indignant cry and followed after them immediately.

“Isn’t this _great_?” Harry shouted from somewhere up ahead, his voice barely audible in the airstream.

“Yeah!” Draco shouted back. “I’m also _never_ doing it again!”

Nivaria and Draco overtook them in less than three wing beats, and she let out another cry, which was echoed several times from down below. There was a commotion and when Draco looked back, all of the remaining hippogriffs took flight as one. He looked over to see Harry grinning broadly, and then Maggy caught up to him on the biggest hippogriff Draco had ever seen. That one was definitely more alpha material!

Nivaria led the way. They left the paddock behind and flew over a massive field full of yellow and red flowers. The whole herd followed after her, the collective beating of their wings making it sound like an advancing charge with Draco in the lead. He sat up straighter without really meaning to and secretly wished he’d worn his robes today. He imagined that he would’ve looked quite majestic with them streaming through the air. If he’d had a sword, he _certainly_ would have drawn it now.

Then Harry shouted something that sounded like “I’m the king of the world!” and when Draco looked back, he was sitting on his hippogriff with his arms outstretched.

“Oh, I love that movie!” Maggy shouted over, just as Draco yelled, “Have you gone _mad?_ ”. Harry gave him a look that didn’t exactly deny Draco’s question and went back to holding on to the harness.

There were some surprised shouts from the ground, and when Draco looked, there was a group of children, grouped around a blindingly white unicorn and pointing up at them, eyes wide and mouths open.

“That _always_ gets them!” Maggy was flying several feet underneath Draco now, waving down at the children.

“Who are they?” Harry shouted.

“Second graders from Ilvermorny. They’re having their Creature Care lessons here. You just can’t keep all those magical creatures at a _school_.”

Draco turned around to give Harry a very pointed look. “You don’t say!”

Harry just glared at him in response and then – Draco didn’t know how he did it – directed his hippogriff to swoop out of Draco’s field of vision.

Draco’s descend was much less graceful and much less deliberate. Nivaria decided that their time was up and turned sharply, nearly throwing Draco off the side in the process. There was a considerable amount of rustling as the herd followed suit immediately. The paddock came back into view almost instantly and then they were already diving, touching down hard. Draco didn’t waste any time dismounting, and was safe outside the paddock by the time Maggy and Harry finally landed as well.

“Thanks so much, Maggy!” Harry patted his hippogriff’s beak, beaming at her. “That was _brilliant_.”

“Yeah,” Draco said from a distance. “Brilliant but also _terrifying_.”

“Y’all were great!” Maggy said, patting Nivaria’s beak. “I thought we wouldn’t even get ya _up_ there and then you just took the lead like that.”

“Well ...” Draco said tentatively. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her (and Harry) that he’d just held on and let Nivaria have her will. “Glad I wasn’t a completely disappointment.”

“Don’t ya worry your pretty head,” Maggy said with a grin.

Then she summoned a backpack from somewhere beside the paddock and pulled a whole dead ferret out of it. She tossed it to Nivaria (who snatched it out of the air and cut it clean in half in the process) and then distributed dead mice to the rest of the herd.

“The worst are the ones who act all tough and competent,” she added while watching the herd obliterate their prey. “It’s _really_ hard to keep them from getting hacked for acting disrespectful.”

“I _hate_ those guys,” Harry said cheerfully, though he _had_ decided to climb the fence and face away from the hippogriffs and their treats.

Draco was doing his best to look away too. He was just glad Maggy hadn’t fed them before their trip. He certainly wouldn’t have set a single toe into the paddock then.

They thanked Maggy again and then made their way back across the farm towards the Portkey Point. As soon as they were out of view, Draco pointed his wand at each of his hands in turn and cast a mild disinfecting charm to get the feeling of dead ferret off (even though he hadn’t even touched it – just touching something that had touched it had been enough).

One thing was certain: he would never accept one of Harry’s bets again.


	58. Your Touch Is Black and Poisonous [Tuesday, January 17th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys so much: Fan, XOX_Eternity_XOX, You_Wish, Justforthedead, DarlingDearest, windowcracks, illindalenti, SHkatty, kylorrren, ThatBoringOne, Justforthedead, filidoune, AlluraBelle and hush_over_the_night! ❤️
> 
> Sooo … that was enough fluff, right? 😇 You were finished with that?
> 
> Title: Panic! at the Disco – Victorious 🎶

When Draco got to St. Mungo’s at the start of his shift, there were reporters outside the door. This was seldom a good sign. He should really start Floo-ing in. Apparating was starting to become a real hassle.

Most of the reporters only spared him half a glance and then returned their attention to the hospital’s entrance, but one tiny wizard with an enormous hat and a real, living nightingale on top made a bee-line for him, sucking on his Quick-Quotes Quill as he went. Draco shouldered his way through the crowd and made it inside before the weirdo could reach him.

He stopped the next Trainee Healer that came his way. “What’s all that about?”

She rearranged the charts she was holding so she could point at a treatment room in the far corner. There was an Auror posted at the door, which was _definitely_ not a good sign at all. “Somebody attacked Potter’s ex-girlfriend.” And then she was gone.

Draco’s first thoughts were about Ginny. He rolled up the sleeve of his wand arm as he ran over to her room. The Auror didn’t stop him. On the contrary – he even held the door open for Draco as he approached.

The patient was lying on her stomach, face turned away from the door. But even like that it was obvious that she wasn’t Ginny Weasley. She was wearing slashed Ministry robes for one. Also, her messily cut hair was as black as Harry’s (though completely smooth and silky). Nash was standing over her, her wand pointed at a wild array of jagged cuts running straight across her neck.

“Malfoy!” With her free hand she gestured for him to join her at the table. “Could you take a look? I want to make sure this doesn’t scar.”

Draco used a sanitising spell on himself while Nash finished cleaning the wounds and filling him in. “Her name’s Cho Chang. She works at the Ministry. Somebody jumped her on her way to work and cut her neck. No residue of a spell, so our best guess is some kind of knife. It looks like they tried to cut off her head, doesn’t it?”

Draco leaned over her to have a closer look. The slashes looked almost haphazard, not even that close together. “Who the fuck goes for the neck instead of the throat?”

Nash shrugged helplessly. “The same idiot who uses a knife instead of a curse?”

“Maybe they cursed the knife? Did you have someone from Curses down here?”

Draco did an aura spell to see if he could detect possible residue of dark magic, but there was nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Nash seemed to have come to the same conclusion already. “Curses got her first, because nobody saw the attack. The wound is completely curse-free.”

Draco looked up from Chang to meet Nash’s eyes. “Then what do you need me for? You know how to heal a cut.”

“You know my main field of study is memory loss due to blunt force trauma. Can’t say that’s very helpful here.” Nash crossed her arms. “But you know everything about scars, so I’m gonna use that if I can. Do you think I wanna be known as the quack who’s responsible for the disfigurement of Potter’s ex-girlfriend?”

Draco felt his eyebrows knit together. He refocused on Chang and began to assess the wounds more closely. “ _Why_ does everybody keep calling her that?”

Nash huffed a humourless laugh. “Because that’s the _reason_ she was attacked, right?”

Draco nearly gave himself whiplash with the speed his head shot up. “What are you talking about?”

She gestured at their patient, urging him to get started. Draco complied reluctantly. The wounds closed themselves under his wand as he listened to her words.

“Witch Weekly published something about their relationship this morning. How she broke Potter’s heart and all that stuff. And only an hour later, somebody attempts to murder her. That’s not what coincidence looks like in my book.”

“Great,” muttered Draco.

There were a thousand thoughts waiting to be observed by him, but right now they seemed to be miles away, somewhere outside his bubble. Healing before feeling, always.

Chang’s skin was raw and red when he was finished, but also completely smooth. Draco scribbled his progress into her chart and then watched Nash apply a numbing bandage. A mediwitch came to take her to a room a few minutes later, followed closely by the Auror.

~o~

Draco seized the first opportunity he got, which was his half-hour lunch break, and Apparated straight to the Falcons’ home pitch. The vultures were already there, circling the perimeter, but Draco had anticipated that. He kept his Invisibility Cloak on until he was inside the stadium and thus out of reach of the reporters.

The players were practicing stunts, swooping through tiny hoops and tunnels that hung suspended in the air. They’d also let loose practice Bludgers, which were just as big and fast as the real ones but merely wailed loudly whenever they hit a target. Draco couldn’t see Harry anywhere, but it wasn’t like he could make out anybody _else_ either.

But somebody must’ve spotted him, because then a figure on the edge of the pitch directed their broom in his direction and touched down next to him a few seconds later.

“Healer Malfoy! Is everything alright?” asked the assistant coach, David, with genuine concern.

Draco shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I need to speak to Potter. It’s urgent.”

David pressed his lips together tightly. “Does it have something to do with all those _reporters_ camped outside?”

“Afraid so.”

“Great. Just when Matt’s not here for once in his life.”

David turned around with his wand in one hand and a whistle in the other. He blew it and the number seven flashed across the empty scoreboard at the same time. The Bludgers froze in mid-air, as did most of the players, all of whom were looking down at them.

Then, from so high up that Draco couldn’t have seen him if he’d been wearing a flashing neon sign around his neck, descended Harry. His eyes were wide with panic and glued to Draco’s.

“What happened?”

There was no use sugar-coating it. Harry would only start imagining even worse scenarios. Draco just said it outright. “Chang’s at Mungo’s. She’s alright now, but somebody attacked her a few hours ago. They got away.”

“Chang?” Harry hesitated for a second. Maybe he was wondering why Draco had come there and interrupted practice just to tell him about it. “ _Cho_ Chang?”

Draco nodded. “There was an article in Witch Weekly this morning. About what happened between the two of you. Then she was attacked. The paps are waiting outside.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Harry yelled, turning around to kick the nearest bench, which was definitely not good news for his foot.

His team mates glanced down in concern. Harry dropped his broom right where he stood and stormed off towards the changing rooms. There was another whistle and the number seven displayed on the scoreboard rearranged to form a Falcon. All the other players descended, and Draco went after Harry.

He wasn’t hard to find. Draco just had to follow the noise. Harry was slamming doors and apparently throwing things. Draco opened the door just in time to see him stuff his gloves inside his bag with so much force that it looked like he wanted to squeeze his whole arm in there too. Then he practically ripped of his ring and threw it across the room. There was a slight cracking noise when he wrenched his sweater from its hook. Draco was pretty sure that he saw a spark, too.

“What did they do to her? Was it a curse?”

Draco really wanted to tell him. Really, he did. He couldn’t, though. He shook his head slightly.

“Harry ... you know I can’t.”

Harry looked like he wanted to argue. His sweater was crunched up beneath his fists, and for a second Draco half expected it to catch fire. But then Harry just growled loudly and pulled the sweater over his head roughly.

“Has the whole world lost their god damn mind? What the fuck is wrong with people?”

Draco summoned the ring from the far corner. Then he came closer until he was standing directly before Harry, and dropped it into his bag.

“You know it’s not your fault, don’t you?”

Harry shot to his feet. They were standing way too close now, the tips of their shoes touching. Harry glared up at Draco, and there were angry tears in his eyes.

“ _Isn’t_ it, though? I doubt she’d have been attacked if she’d never met me.”

“If you start blaming yourself for something like that, you’re never going to stop. Whoever _did_ that to her is responsible. Not you.”

Harry ignored him. He turned around, seized his bag and grabbed Draco’s upper arm. “You’re taking me to see her, right?”

Draco pried Harry’s finger away as gently as he could. “No, I’m not. I’m going to take you home and then I have to get back to work.”

“But –!”

“Cut it out, Potter.” Draco’s voice was firm and cold. “You know I can’t take you to her. You’re not family. Besides, what good would it do?”

“I don’t _know_!” yelled Harry suddenly. “I don’t _know_ how to make it right, but I’ve got to do _something_! Maybe she knows who attacked her! Maybe she knows who went to the press in the first place!”

“Even if she did! That’s for the Aurors to handle, not you! Not everything is your responsibility!”

Harry was trembling with rage. “The least I have to do is apologise! I should’ve warned her about the publicity and the lunatics!”

“Come on,” said Draco calmly. He tried to take Harry’s bag from him, but he wouldn’t let go. Draco sighed and placed a hand against Harry’s back instead, more pushing than guiding him towards the door. “I’ll take you home and tonight I’ll tell you everything I legally can.”

After that, Harry let himself be pushed, albeit very reluctantly.

~o~

Draco made sure to make three jumps. First: a field outside Falmouth. Second: a secluded spot in the woods a few miles from Ottery St Catchpole. Third: The Burrow.

There was a shriek and then a clatter. When they’d materialised at the end of the road that led to the Burrow, Molly had dropped the bucket she’d been feeding the chickens from.

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. “You said you’d take me home,” he hissed.

“I changed my mind,” said Draco. “It’s better if you talk to somebody.” His badge grew hot all of a sudden and Draco instinctively plucked it from his scrubs so he could read the message.

“You’re the worst,” hissed Harry again.

Draco ignored that. “Got to go, I’m on call. Pick you up tonight! _Talk!_ ”

And then he Apparated before Harry could get another word in.

~o~

All the warning Draco got was somebody hissing his name. The next second he was dragged into the on-call room and the door fell shut.

Tabitha was looking at him gravely and Draco took a step back so she was forced to let go of his arm. On the lower bunk behind her sat Cassiopeia Frey, Healer for Puddlemere United, one arm draped around the shoulder of Flavio Valdez, who was Healer for the Wasps. He was slumped forward, face hidden behind his hands.

“Did you hear?” said Tabitha urgently.

Draco doubted they were talking about Chang, whom none of them knew, at least as far as he was aware. He also didn’t want to mention her, in case they hadn’t heard. There was no need to fuel the flames of speculation further.

“Did somebody die?” he guessed, because that was always a solid assumption here.

Valdez sobbed and then hiccupped into his hands, “My _career_!”

Draco frowned at Tabitha. He wasn’t really interested in playing guessing games. He had patients.

“The Wasps replaced him –” she began, but Frey interrupted her to yell, “With _Dayal_ of all people! And after all the nasty things the Prophet wrote about him after he let Potter play prematurely last year.”

Valdez sobbed again.

Draco’s frown deepened. “ _Why_ would they do that?”

“Because Serenity is a dirty liar!” yelled Valdez, dropping his hands and balling them into fists. His face was red and streaked with tears, which was not a good look on him.

“Who –?”

“Their Captain, Serenity Whitlock,” whispered Tabitha. “She claims that Flavio tried to blackmail her.”

“It’s all because I wouldn’t let her play against the Cannons next Sunday!” interrupted Valdez. “She broke a whole set of ribs and punctuated a lung last season and she’s not back to full volume yet. So I benched her for another three weeks. She tried to _bribe_ me. Fifty galleons if I let her play.”

“And you said no, of course,” stated Draco. Quidditch really made people lose their minds.

“Of course!” cried Valdez. “And today I get an owl from their Coach, telling me they’re letting me go because allegedly _I_ demanded that Serenity pays _me_ a hundred galleons or I wouldn’t let her play!”

Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to the door. “Can’t you show their Coach your memory?”

Valdez seemed to pick up even more speed, throwing his hands up in the air and nearly punching Frey in the face. “What for? He said they won’t be reporting me, so it’s just _them_ I’d have to prove myself to. What good does it do to prove my innocence to them if I _can’t_ go back to work there anyways?”

Draco sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He was pretty sure _he_ wouldn’t be able to let something like that just slide. He’d definitely want to pay that lying bitch back.

Then again, he highly doubted any of the Falcons would stoop that low to play a game. They’d fight tooth and nail to persuade him, sure. _Some_ of them would probably also try to bribe him – Hell, Harry had _already_ tried during Draco’s home assignment after the New Year’s Eve poisoning! But none of them would just throw him under the bus like that.

Draco unfolded his arms and pushed off the wall. “I’ve got to go; I have patients waiting. I’m really sorry, Valdez. You know where to find me if you decide to fight back after all.”

Valdez just gave him a strained smile and Draco left before any one of them could bring up anything else. _Why_ did people think that Draco was interested in these things? He had his own problems, and not too few of them.

~o~

Draco had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t try to find a copy of the magazine. He knew that it would only be full of rubbish. Hell, _he_ always told _Harry_ not to read these things.

Problem was, it didn’t take the magazine long to find _him_ , because it was _everywhere_. His Trainee Healers kept talking about it as soon as he turned his back on them (because he gave them very pointed looks whenever they did it in front of him). Patients were reading it and speculating with each other.

By the end of his shift, Draco felt like he _had_ to read it, just to see how much of the insanity he had listened to all day was _real_. He grabbed one of the five copies of Witch Weekly that littered the break room, determined to get it over with. He nearly gave up after just one look at the title page, which was headed: _‘Exclusive interview with Harry Potter’s first girlfriend!’_

They had printed an old photograph of the D.A. directly underneath. Harry wasn’t hard to find. He was standing front and centre, his mob of hair unmistakeable and his eyes so green they were the most vivid colour on there. Cho Chang was standing a good way down the line, right next to the Edgecombe girl. The idiots at Witch Weekly had actually placed a giant question mark over Chang’s face, making her unrecognisable to anyone who didn’t know about her already. As if people wouldn’t buy that rag either way.

Draco took several calming breaths and flipped through the magazine until he found Chang’s picture smack in the middle.

It was immediately apparent that the reporters had surprised her. The photograph started with a view of her back, clad in standard Ministry robes, and then rounded her until the camera must have been right in her face, at which point she seemed to shout something and stretched out both hands to shield her face.

The article was the usual tasteless rubbish, but at the same time much worse, knowing that it had led to Chang being attacked.

_Cho Chang (26) wasn’t just Harry Potter’s first girlfriend – she was also his first kiss, though she didn’t know it at the time._

_When I meet Cho for a chat and ask her whether Harry was her first kiss too, she acts cagey and only after several minutes does she admit that there came somebody before the Boy Who Lived, though she vehemently refuses to name him._

_Further research revealed that her first boyfriend was none other than Cedric Diggory, the boy who was murdered in Harry’s presence the night He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned. Our readers are left to wonder whether it was really coincidence that she chose the one person who was there in Cedric’s last moments to replace him, or if there was something else at play._

_Whatever the case – Cho seems to have made a lasting impression on the Chosen One. Insider sources recently revealed that Harry only started dating again a year after their break-up, when he got together with Holyhead Harpies’ Star Chaser Ginny Weasley._

_“The whole school heard about their break-up,” says a former classmate who wishes to remain anonymous. “They went on a date at Madam Puddifoot’s. On Valentine’s day, no less. And only a few months after her last boyfriend died, mind you. That was already a scandal in and of itself. But then she started crying and making a scene, and at the end of it she stormed out and left him sitting there.”_

_Asked about the reason for this so-called ‘scene’, our source says, “Well, she was jealous because of Granger. Seemed to think there was something going on between Potter and her. But before you ask, I don’t think that’s true. Nobody ever saw them together as a couple. And I don’t think they could really hide it, either. Potter and Weasley were very obvious when they were together.”_

_Whether or not there really never was anything between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger will probably never come to light. Fact is that Granger,_ _Director of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Auror Ronald Weasley, both members of the so-called Golden Trio, are happily married now and just welcomed their first baby girl._

_Meanwhile Harry seems to remain single even two years after the end of his last relationship with ex-girlfriend Grace Taylor (Muggle). We wish Harry all the best in his search for true love!_

~o~

It was after eleven when they stumbled out of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place. Harry didn’t even bother with brushing the soot off his clothes. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes drooping. He was completely done for the day after spending the last four hours raging about the press and speculating about Chang’s attacker with almost the whole Weasley clan, all of whom seemed to have been informed that Harry was at the Burrow almost immediately.

Harry had just set one foot on the first stair when the owl screeched.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Harry exhaled heavily and dragged himself over to the kitchen. “Go up, I’ll be right there.”

Draco only made it halfway up the stairs before Harry shouted “ _Howler!_ ” and Greyson’s voice exploded from the kitchen. He wasn’t exactly _yelling_ , only talking very sternly, but at that volume it didn’t make much difference.

_“HARRY, I’M SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT THE GIRL. BUT PLEASE REMEMBER WHAT’S MOST IMPORTANT. WE’RE PLAYING THE KESTRELS ON SUNDAY AND ABSOLUTE CANNOT AFFORD TO PUT IN FELICITY AGAINST THEM. IF YOU LET PRACTICE SLIDE NOW, THAT’S LETTING THE PRESS WIN. DON’T SHOW THEM THAT IT BOTHERS YOU! I EXPECT TO SEE YOU TOMORROW AT PRACTICE!”_

Draco entered the kitchen in time to see Harry yell, “Oh, _fuck_ _off_!” and wave his wand at the Howler so that it disappeared from mid-air. Odysseus screeched indignantly. “You too, you bloody pest!”

“That’s what I’ve been saying the whole time!” said Draco loudly. “That owl is the _worst_.”

“I know, I know. You were right. I can’t stand to look at him anymore either. I hate that he always waits here for me, like some fucking _stalker_.” Harry glared at Odysseus. “Just deliver your letter and fuck off! I’ve got an owl too, you know? You don’t have to pressure me into writing back. Go pester McCarthy for a change!”

Odysseus screeched again, staring right back at Harry.

“And he’s so aggressive too!” Draco chimed in, half annoyed and half happy that Harry was finally agreeing with him.

“And also intrusive! He never finds me anywhere but here! None of the Matt’s other owls are like that. It’s like he’s checking to see if I’m home. You’re not my bloody _chaperone_!” Now Harry was yelling at the owl again. “You’re a fucking _bird_ and I’m an _adult_!”

“Just block him from coming in!” Draco suggested. “Just block all of his bloody owls. Let him contact you through Samantha.”

Odysseus screeched a third time. Was Draco imagining it, or was the owl coming closer? It certainly looked like it was thinking about pecking him. In the face.

Harry groaned and pushed a hand through his hair. “I _can’t_. It’s in my bloody contract.”

Draco crossed his arm, focusing his best death stare at Odysseus. “Sounds to me like it’s time to renegotiate your contract.”

Now Odysseus was _really_ screeching. Draco half wished the bird could talk and tell Greyson every single word they’d said. Would serve the bastard right. Maybe that would teach him to discipline the beast.

“ _Renegotiate_?” Harry was tugging at a particularly curly strand of hair, chewing on his lower lip. “Do you think?”

“Greyson can’t dictate every single aspect of your life, Potter! A coach can’t tell you what to do on the weekends, or if you should play through an injury. There are plenty of teams who’d take you in a heartbeat, one of them is bound to respect you as a human being. Just ask Samantha if there have been any offers and then imply to Greyson that you’re thinking about leaving at the end of the season.”

“And if he doesn’t bite?”

Draco laughed harshly. “You think he’ll let Harry bloody Potter go before he agrees to communicate through Samantha?”

“Let’s just pretend for one wild second that he doesn’t like getting threatened.”

“That’s entirely up to you,” said Draco with a shrug. “But I think the Kestrels’ green would go well with your eyes.”

Odysseus gave the loudest cry yet, unfolded his wings and actually lunged at Draco. Something sharp whipped across his face and the next second something feathery slapped his temple.

Harry was yelling something Draco couldn’t understand and then the window slammed shut and the owl was gone.

“Still not going to hex anybody at Witch Weekly?” Draco said, touching his face experimentally and streaking blood all over it in the process.

Harry sighed and pointed his wand at Draco’s face. It burned for a second as the wound closed.

“Well, I was going to, but then you just handed me over to the Weasleys,” Harry muttered as he grabbed a paper towel, dampened it and cleaned the blood off his face carefully. “So, I wrote a very strongly-worded letter instead.”

Draco grimaced when the towel brushed against his freshly-healed and still tender skin. “They let _you_ write a letter?”

“What, you think I can’t write or what?”

“Well, you’re not exactly known for your eloquence.”

Harry breathed out noisily and vanished the bloody paper towel. “Fine, I told Hermione what I wanted to say and she wrote it. They’ll put it in the Quibbler. The next issue is getting published next week.”

“The Prophet is going to hate that,” said Draco with grin. “That you are choosing the _Quibbler_ over them.”

Harry sighed. “That’s honestly what I’m living for right now.”

Draco looked after him as he left the kitchen, feeling confused and angry and most of all tired. He wished he could cast a Patronus to cheer Harry up, like Harry had done for him back in November.

He still hadn’t mastered the charm and only once after Christmas had the mist condensed enough that Draco could say for certain that it was going to be something fairly small, probably not larger than a cat.

He heavily doubted that he would manage it today, so he decided to pop in at his house instead and get the next best thing.

If anything came close to a Patronus, it was Aurelius. And if there ever had been a time when he was needed, it was now.


	59. Light Up the Sky [Sunday, February 12th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting: Slytherinz_Ghost, Justforthedead, filidoune, ThatBoringOne, kylorrren, WildvanillaRose, Zezily, night, Rionaa, linellin, hush_over_the_night, Amber Rose, SHkatty, illindalenti, Fan, Aimee Van Der Merwe, Tula, XOX_Eternity_XOX, windowcracks and BeaInspired 😊
> 
> You guys certainly have a lot of theories! Let’s see what this chapter brings.

Draco Apparated to the pitch and almost collided with Harry, who must have appeared at the same time. Draco grinned at him and Harry smiled.

It was still another hour until the match, and not many people were there yet. They made their way over to the changing rooms.

“Ready to smash the Wasps?”

Harry actually laughed. “You bet! They completely flattened the Arrows last week, but if we beat them by at least two hundred and thirty points, we’ll pull ahead of them. And –” Harry stopped walking all of a sudden, as if rooted to the spot. “ _Oh no._ ”

“What is it?” Draco looked around to see what had thrown Harry for a loop.

All he could see was a middle-aged man, who leaned against a stand on their way toward the changing rooms and was flipping through what seemed to be flashcards.

“Brankovitch.”

“Bran who?”

“Brankovitch.” Harry jerked his head forward and then turned around so that he was facing Draco instead. “Former Captain of the American National Quidditch team. Let’s go around.”

Well, this certainly wasn’t self-explanatory. “What did _he_ do to you?”

All he got in response was Harry shaking his head and muttering, “Nothing. Let’s _go_.”

“Why can’t we just go that way?” Draco gestured in Brankovitch’s direction.

Now Harry rolled his eyes at him and said, like it was completely obvious, “Because he’ll notice us.”

There were a few seconds of silence during which Draco waited to hear why that was a bad thing and Harry just shifted on the spot nervously. “And? You just said you’re not in conflict with him.”

“I love him,” Harry said vehemently, casting a quick glance over his shoulder.

Draco grinned. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Quidditch is no joke.” Harry’s face was very serious indeed. “He’s brilliant.”

Draco looked over at Brankovitch again and then grimaced without meaning to. “He’s _old._ ”

“He’s thirty-seven. I would marry him on the spot if I weren’t already shackled to you.”

“Gross.” Draco touched his necklace absentmindedly. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go talk to him!”

Now Harry actually took a step forward, further away from his gross crush. “Are you crazy? I can’t just _talk_ to him! That’s Maximus Brankovitch!”

“And you are Harry Potter!”

“Irrelevant!”

The grin spread across Draco’s face all on its own. “Don’t tell me you’re intimidated!”

“He’s a legend.”

“Well, he’s here, so I’d wager he’ll probably watch you play in a few hours. Might as well introduce yourself beforehand.”

“God, I feel sick.” Harry leaned against a stand for support and fanned himself with a hand. “Why did you have to tell me that?”

Draco laughed. “Well, I _thought_ that was obvious. Is he even single? Or interested in men?”

Harry shrugged. “How would I know?”

“You said you love him! Didn’t you check?” That man really was unbelievable.

Worst of all was, Harry seemed genuinely puzzled as he said, “What do I care about his private life?”

Merlin, Harry didn’t even know how to pine properly. Draco suddenly wondered how they had ever managed to get together.

“You’re the worst groupie in history.”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Of course he would. Draco didn’t get to reply, because then it happened:

Brankovitch appeared next to Harry suddenly, who jumped in surprise when he said, “Hi! How are you doing?”

It seemed that being in the general vicinity of his Quidditch crush had made him less vigilant. Draco, who had seen him approaching (and refrained from mentioning it to Harry so he couldn’t bolt), returned the greeting while Harry turned around hastily.

“You’re Harry Potter, right?” Brankovitch’s eyes travelled to Harry’s scar, like anyone’s eyes ever. “I’m Max Brankovitch.”

Harry took the offered hand automatically (so that was how you got him to do that?) and just nodded. Brankovitch looked at Draco. This time, his eyes didn’t go up but down to Draco’s scrubs, which were grey with the falcon on the front.

“And you must be Draco Malfoy.”

Draco shook his hand too. Though he was definitely caught by surprise, he managed to say, “Nice to meet you”, because he wasn’t a complete oaf. “What brings you to England?”

“Matthew.” When Brankovitch smiled, wrinkles appeared around his eyes. _Old._ “I’m thinking about investing in your team.”

“Invest?”

Harry took a step back towards Draco. Standing too close to Brankovitch seemed to make him nervous. Well, even more nervous than before.

“As a shareholder. I provide gold for the Falcons and get a share of the profits, of which he assures me there will be plenty. Not to mention the bragging rights. So I decided to see for myself if you’re worth it.”

“Uh-uh,” Harry said, a hand buried in his hair. Either he hadn’t listened or he was completely uninterested in gold talk.

“Matt tells me you have a chance to pull ahead of the Wasps?”

Harry just nodded numbly. Draco jabbed an elbow in his side and then elaborated, “They need to win by at least two hundred and thirty points.”

Brankovitch clasped Harry’s shoulder (Harry flinched slightly, but seemed to be wearing his anti-zap-ring already).

“Well, you seem like a capable flier, so I guess I’ll start small and place a bet on the Falcons pulling ahead today.”

“I do?” Harry said, sounding way too surprised.

Draco rolled his eyes at him. Since when was he so unsure of himself?

“You joined your house team when you were eleven, right?”

“Er ...” Harry’s brain didn’t seem to be working anymore, like he couldn’t fathom that somebody like Brankovitch would know anything about him.

Draco decided to step in before this got too hard to witness. “Yeah, he did. I helped.”

Harry was so out of it that he didn’t even protest. Brankovitch only spared Draco half a glance and then looked at Harry again.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it says so on your card. Now that we’re talking about it ...”

Brankovitch rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a set of Chocolate Snitch cards. He rifled through them and then presented Harry’s to him.

“Would you be willing to sign that? For my kids, you know. You’re kinda their hero.”

“Your kids ...?” Harry seemed to have entered a trance.

“Don’t you live in America?”

Draco grabbed the card to save Brankovitch (and Harry) from looking like an idiot. He pulled out his self-inking quill and pressed both in Harry’s hands, who took them automatically.

Brankovitch smiled obnoxiously. “That’s right.”

“And your children are interested in our national Quidditch league?”

“Oh no.” Brankovitch laughed. “Quidditch isn’t that big over there. Doesn’t even matter to them that their dad spent years playing it. But they _love_ the books. The one with the dragon is their favourite.”

“ _Books?_ ” Harry said at the same time as Draco asked, “ _Dragon?_ ”.

“Yeah. _‘Harry and friends free Frankie the friendly Fireball’_?”

“ _Friendly_?” Harry’s disbelief was clear.

Draco was caught up on another part of that sentence. “ _‘Harry and friends’_?”

“It’s a book series. Kids in the states love it.”

“Brilliant.” Harry rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he seemed to realise he was still holding the quill. He squared his jaw and the dazed expression on his face was replaced by grim determination. “What are your children’s names?”

“They’re called Jason, Jack and Jane.” Merlin. _Americans_.

Harry scribbled something on the card and gave it back. Then he grabbed Draco by the upper arm and hauled him past Brankovitch. “If you’ll excuse us, it’s time for our pre-warm-up check-up.”

“Thanks!” Brankovitch called after them. “Break a leg!”

Harry waited until they were almost at the changing rooms and out of earshot.

“Some wanker wrote books about me!”

“There are plenty of books about you. You’ve got three biographies already, and you’re only twenty-five.”

Harry didn’t look amused. “This is worse! It’s spreading across the pond! Now some poor American children think I’m some kind of picture book protagonist!”

“Still better than those look-alike pin-up calendars, isn’t it?”

Not that Draco would recommend them for children, American or not.

“They don’t even look like me.” Harry glared at him and poked his side. “I need Samantha to find out who writes them.”

“Then what?” Draco rubbed his ribs and held the door open for him.

The rest of the team was already inside, doing stretches.

“Then I’ll find them and _smash their heads in_!”

“That’s the spirit, Harry!” Robinson – who probably had only heard the last part about smashing heads – punched his shoulder. Then she turned to face her team. “You know the drill! Get checked by Draco, then half an hour warm-up, then back here for final check-up. And no flirting with the fans until after the match!”

Draco made his round, starting with the Chasers, then the Beaters, then Mills and finally Harry. Then he went outside to watch them pass the Quaffle for half an hour, and accompanied them inside again afterwards, where he did another check-up.

“I know you’ve got something to proof, with Brankovitch watching and all,” Draco said casually while checking Harry’s aura. “But if you break another single rib, I’ll have to hex you.”

“Are you trying to _threaten_ me?” Harry grinned and twisted his Quidditch ring.

“I said _no flirting_ before the match!” Robinson called out while fastening her robes.

“What – we’re not –,” Draco stammered, caught by surprise.

“You said no flirting with the _fans_ ,” Harry said, winking at her.

Lauryn Mason snorted. “I guess we can count ourselves lucky that Draco’s not a chick, or you’d already have corrupted him. And then we’d have to find a new Healer. Again.”

“Even if I were a witch, I doubt Potter could manage to corrupt me.” Draco raised an eyebrow in emphasis. “I do have _some_ standards.”

Harry returned the condescending look. “Oh _please_. You’d be lucky to get me.”

The team was still laughing when Greyson stepped in.

“Alright, time to get serious. I’ve got good and bad news. Good news: Kimbrough signed off sick a few minutes ago, which means that Sherwood will be playing Seeker.”

“ _Perfect_.” Harry grinned and put on his robes. “He’s huge and slow. Don’t know who died and made him Seeker.”

Greyson didn’t seem as enthusiastic. “Bad news: it’s started raining and it seems like there’s a thunderstorm on the way as well. Try not to get hit by lightning. Wrap the game up as fast as possible, but not before we’re eighty points ahead.” Greyson pointed at Harry. “Got it?”

Harry nodded, determination showing on his face. “Well, I’m still at an advantage as long as the wind doesn’t pick up.”

Robinson grabbed her broom and got up to deliver her pre-game motivational speech. “Alright guys, just like always: Anyone who’s not bruised by the end of the game is not invited to the next one! _Let’s smash them!_ ”

~o~

Harry spent an hour of the game distracting Ethan Sherwood by flying as close to him as possible and then dashing off without a warning, which caused Sherwood to speed after him every single time. He finally seemed to catch on after the fourth incident, by which time he was way more out of breath than he should have been, in addition to being drenched like everybody else.

Then the storm hit them.

The wind picked up rapidly, promptly knocking two of the Wasps’ Chasers into each other. One of them dropped the Quaffle, which was then swept away by a whirlwind that formed spontaneously. The Quaffle spun around in a circle, gaining speed with every round, and then shot out after completing its third lap. As he wasn’t allowed to catch it (not that Draco would have recommended that), Harry had to perform a sloth grip roll to avoid getting hit.

Easton Haynes, who was flying a mere twenty feet behind Harry, only just managed to defend himself with his bat. The Quaffle barrelled straight through one of the Wasps’ goal hoops, which caused thunderous applause from the Falcons’ fans, but unfortunately gained them no points.

The referee awarded the Wasps a penalty instead, which had to wait until their Chasers were put back together again.

Robinson and Haynes used the timeout to help Harry turn his broom over again. The wind had gotten so intense – and he was so light – that he had serious trouble getting back on top.

Draco checked to see if Brankovitch was watching that debacle, in case it was something he needed to rub in later – provided Harry’s earlier behaviour wasn’t enough to tease him about.

Brankovitch seemed to be absorbed in an animated conversation with Ludo Bagman and Greyson, who were probably sucking up to him.

Well, maybe they _were_ talking about Harry’s sloth grip roll-over.

The Wasps missed their penalty completely, which either must have had something to do with the lightning bolt that struck one of the Falcons’ hoops, or with the squint their Chaser had retained from her crash. Her horrible robes were completely caked in mud, which greatly improved them.

Torrents of rain water were washing around their benches, and Draco pulled his feet up to prevent them from getting wet. He tried to make out Harry, but the rain was so thick now and they were so far up that he had trouble spotting any player at all.

There was a sudden flash of light and Dayal, who was the Wasps’ Healer now, shouted something, but Draco couldn’t hear him through the thunder.

He got the meaning a second later, when a grey-and-white player hit the pitch with a _SPLAT!_

Cold rain was sloshing down Draco’s back as he ran over to the figure, who was already getting to their feet. It was Chaser Lauryn Mason, shivering and cursing. She tossed her broom aside. It was smoking and the handle was splintered.

“I got fucking hit by lightning!” she yelled over the storm, even though he was only a few feet away.

He could barely understand her.

“What’s the score?” Draco yelled back while he healed the minor burns she had suffered.

He couldn’t even see the display from down here.

“140 – 60 since a solid minute ago.” She took the brand-new Lightning Blast a broom boy had brought. “I hope Harry got that. I haven’t seen him for at least five minutes and I’d really like this game to end sooner rather than later.”

She took off again without another word, disappearing into the rain almost immediately. Draco returned to his bench and kept his eyes trained on anything solid he managed to spot, though it was impossible to discern colours or even tell if it was a player or an object or maybe just some debris the storm had picked up along the way.

A great roar went up suddenly, and then Bagman’s voice resounded from afar.

Draco exchanged a look with Dayal, but he didn’t seem to have understood anything either. They stared up into the sky, where two groups were coming together and then descending towards the ground. The match was over.

Then a single flier broke off from his team and sped up in their direction.

His outlines became clearer, and then Harry came into focus. He was clinging to his broom with one hand, cradling the other one against his chest while the storm kept blowing him off course.

Draco just got started imagining all the possible injuries when Harry caught his eye and stretched his arm out in front of him.

He had caught the Snitch. He also seemed to be in pain, because he grimaced at the movement.

When Harry landed near the Healers’ benches, his lips were blue and he was shivering violently. He didn’t stop to let Draco heal him but marched right past them, jerking his head in Draco’s direction.

“Changing rooms.” The words were hardly distinguishable because his teeth were chattering so much.

Draco grabbed his bag and went after him.

The second Harry reached the changing room, he dropped down on the bench and stuffed the Snitch and his ring into his bag with trembling hands.

Draco helped him take off the robes, but the form-fitting sports gear underneath was clinging to him tightly, so Draco just vanished it, shirt and trackies.

Harry’s whole body shook as his wet skin came in contact with the warm air. Draco knelt in front of him to have a better view at his torso and then did his spell.

“I think your ribs are just bruised.”

“ _Just?_ ” Harry gritted his teeth.

“Count yourself lucky. You do remember I’d have to hex you if they were broken?”

“Dimly.”

Draco took a small jar out of his pocket and began coating his bruises with some essence of arnica. Harry slumped forward as the tension left his body and Draco pressed a hand against his shoulder for support.

“Did anybody ever tell you that you’re supposed to catch the _Snitch_? That’s _not_ the one made of iron, by the way.” 

Harry laughed and then groaned because of his ribs. He leaned down and Draco came up to meet him halfway automatically. Harry kissed him softly and then leaned his forehead against Draco’s.

“Let’s go home. I need a very hot bath.”

“Sounds tempting,” Draco said, though their definitions of ‘hot’ were wildly different and he was undoubtedly about to get burned.

They burst apart when lightning struck just outside and thunder boomed immediately afterwards.

Draco helped Harry put on a t-shirt from his bag and then pulled him to his feet. He didn’t hold on for fear of being seen. Kissing out in the open like this had already been pretty risky.

“Congratulations on impressing your Quidditch crush, by the way.”

“Ah, well,” Harry said, shaking his head while rummaging through his bag until he found a pair of jeans. “He’s got three kids. Guess I’ll have to make do with you.”

Draco was tempted to trip him up as soon as Harry was on his feet, but that wouldn’t have been a very professional thing for a Healer to do. So he bumped into Harry with his shoulder instead, smacking him against the wall.

“Wanker!”

Draco just smirked and replied with a solid “Git.”

Then he dried him off with a spell. Harry was _his_ git, after all.

They had just reached the door when somebody some ways down the hallway said, “We need to talk!” and then there was the sound of a door slamming shut.

“McCarthy,” Harry whispered. His hand was back inside his bag immediately, and he gave Draco an urgent look before he pulled out his Cloak and vanished.

Draco sighed and Harry grabbed his arm and apparently stuffed his other hand into Draco’s pocket. Then Draco’s own Cloak descended around him and Harry dragged him into the hallway and along until they reached the door leading into the Coaches’ office.

He could practically hear how Harry leaned against the door next to him, and Draco doubted that he could make him stop this behaviour and leave. Also, Draco didn’t really _want_ to leave. Felicity had sounded agitated and Draco wanted to know why.

He pressed his ear against the door and listened.

“I’m going to get right to the point, Matt,” said Felicity in a no-nonsense kind of voice. “Potter’s assistant has been asking around, collecting offers.”

Something crashed to the floor with a deafening BANG and Greyson and Felicity both yelled in shock.

“Where did you hear that?” Greyson sounded slightly panicked.

“Well, you know my brother’s Seeker for the Tornados. Let’s just say, when people start talking about _replacing_ him, he hears about it.”

Greyson’s weary voice was so low that they had to hold their breaths to be able to hear it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I thought you ought to know. I’ve also heard things,” continued Felicity in a lower voice, “about the team’s financial situation. That’s why the American is here, isn’t it?”

“I don’t …,” muttered Greyson.

“Coach, _listen,”_ hissed Felicity. “The Falcons can barely afford Potter _now_. You’re going to ruin the team if you try to hold Potter. Me, on the other hand? I haven’t had half the number of accidents Potter’s had in the last two years. I’m _reliable_. The team doesn’t need him. Do us all a favour and let him go.”

“What about your brother?” asked Greyson after a few seconds of silence. “What if I let Potter go and the Tornados _do_ take him?”

“ _Please_ ,” said Felicity simply. “The Tornados placed eighth last season. They won’t be able to afford him either.”

Another moment of silence before Greyson finally said, “Thanks for telling me.”

“Anytime,” said Felicity pleasantly.

There were footsteps and Harry and Draco backed away from the door immediately, pressing themselves against the opposite wall.

Nothing happened for a second, and then Felicity added, much closer this time, “I trust you’ll do what’s right for the team.” 

The door flew open suddenly and Felicity came strutting out, grinning deviously and eyes sparkling.

~o~

They didn’t talk until they reappeared in Draco’s living room.

“Well,” muttered Harry finally. “Now I feel terrible.”

“Did you know?” asked Draco silently.

“About the team’s money troubles? No.”

He plopped down on Draco’s armchair and cast Incendio at the fireplace. There was another moment of silence.

“Well, Sam said my salary was above average, but I always thought the team’s return was good, what with merch and everything.”

Draco sat down on the couch opposite of him and started stroking Aurelius, who had curled up there in their absence.

“So, Greyson is a share-holder, right?”

Harry nodded glumly and Draco leaned across the coffee table and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault if the finances aren’t looking that good. I’m willing to bet you are worth whatever they’re paying you. If Greyson doesn’t know how to manage the team’s finances, he should have stuck to coaching.”

Harry shrugged. “He always loved the team. He was a Falcon himself, before the war. I think it’s relatable. Hell, _I’ve_ been planning on becoming a share-holder when my active career is over.”

Harry leaned back into the chair and Draco’s hand fell away.

“At least that explains why Matt’s been so different lately.”

Draco pulled his legs onto the couch and placed his chin on top of his knees. “What do you mean, ‘different’?”

Harry sighed. “He used to be fun. Sympathetic. Easy-going.” 

“Then what?”

“I don’t know … I guess the first time I noticed him acting strange was … what, two years ago?”

“What happened?”

Harry tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s stupid and I’m not proud of it.”

“Harry –”

“Okay, fine.” Harry took a deep breath. “McCarthy had just joined a few weeks prior and we … well, we didn’t exactly get off to a good start.”

“Shocking.”

“Yeah, well …”

Draco gestured with an arching move of his hand. “Continue.”

Harry gave him a fleeting glance and turned sideways in the armchair, letting his legs dangle over one armrest and leaning his head against the other.

“So, there was this really important match against the Harpies coming up. They had just gotten Georgina Thompson as their new Seeker, so Matt made McCarthy and me stay after team practice to work on some moves.”

“Sounds reasonable so far.”

“So, we were flying laps and Matt left for a moment to get some of those training Bludgers. And well …” Harry sighed again. “McCarthy said something mean and I said something mean back and things derailed a bit from there and suddenly she just barged into me and next thing I knew I was at Mungo’s with a severe concussion. She claimed she lost control over her broom.”

“Let me guess: Felicity played the match?”

Harry nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Well, we lost against the Harpies, and I remember we lost a sponsor because of it, which probably wasn’t that great, but at the time I was just gloating over the fact that McCarthy fucked up so badly.”

“Figures,” muttered Draco. “So you think the team’s financial problems started there?”

“Could be,” said Harry tonelessly. “We also started having more accidents, more serious ones. I guess that’s when Matt’s temper started. Probably he’s just stressed. Can’t exactly be easy mapping out a strategy when the line-up keeps changing unexpectedly.”

Draco stared into the fire, thinking rapidly. He felt almost bad for Greyson now. Quite involuntarily, he remembered that one occasion when he had gotten an unwanted look into Greyson’s head on Valentine’s – his wife crying and Greyson comforting her. It _could_ have been about money, he thought.

It wasn’t that Draco suddenly _approved_ of Greyson’s actions. He still thought that Greyson was being irresponsible, putting his players’ health on the line. But Draco could relate, too. When _he_ had been trapped in a desperate situation, he hadn’t exactly covered himself in glory either.

Maybe Greyson really was trying his best? He had seemed pretty concerned about Harry after his big accident with the Lightning Blast. And again when Felicity had had her mysterious broom accident last year. The one nobody had witnessed …

Draco breathed in deeply and leaned forward in his chair.

“So, let me get this straight … Felicity joins and the team starts heading south? Somebody sells insider information on you, causing a rift between you and your coach, and then Felicity approaches him and tries to convince him to let you go …”

“She _was_ at Hogwarts when I went out with Cho …”

Harry swung his legs around abruptly, facing Draco again. His jaw was set and even as he grimaced and massaged his bruised ribs, he still seemed furious.

“You think that’s her plan? Weaken the team so she can secure my spot?”

“Well,” said Draco slowly. “It certainly would look good for her if things started to go right again after you’re gone, wouldn’t it?”

“That bitch!” pressed Harry out through clenched teeth. He jumped to his feet and whipped out his wand. “I’m gonna –!”

But Draco never found out what he would do, because then Harry deflated very suddenly and dropped back into his chair.

“What just happened?”

Harry sighed heavily and threw his wand onto the coffee table.

“It doesn’t fit. Somebody started selling me out before she joined. I know that for a fact, because that article about my ex-girlfriend Grace was one of the things she teased me about before she knocked me out that day.”

“Okay …” said Draco slowly. “But just because she didn’t tell the Prophet about that one thing doesn’t mean she can’t still be up to something, right?”

Harry nodded. “Guess not …”

“So, what _are_ you going to do now?”

There wasn’t an immediate response – Harry slumped in his chair and rubbed his forehead with both hands, looking severely conflicted. Aurelius got to his paws at a leisurely place, jumped off the couch and placed his head in Harry’s lap.

“Well,” he finally said, looking down at the dog. “I’m certainly not going to _give_ her what she wants. I’ll tell Sam to stop asking around. And I’ll be watching McCarthy. The second she slips up, I’ll be there to take her down.”

Draco nodded and then grimaced immediately afterwards. “And about Odysseus?”

Harry sighed and then sat up straight again. “Maybe it’s time I just _asked_ Matt if he could please send another owl. That’s what adults do, right? Talk?”

Draco couldn’t help but stare at him for a second. Then he cleared his throat and brushed a hand through his hair, but none of it helped explain why he hadn’t thought of that.

“I guess that could work …”


	60. Something Wicked This Way Comes [Tuesday, February 14th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the loyal as well as the new commenters: XOX_Eternity_XOX, Slytherinz_Ghost, Claudi, dont_stop_imagine_mccartneys_celery, Zezily, filidoune, Fandomwarriorqueen, hitomu, M.a., kylorrren, illindalenti, Fan, SHkatty, ThatBoringOne and AlluraBelle! 🤗 I love you all so much!
> 
> This chapter marks two thirds of the fic and shit’s about to go down! 🙄 Or so I’ve heard …

Draco noticed Odysseus almost immediately.

It was hard _not_ to, because he was sitting on top of Draco’s hedge, staring at him when he came back from his morning walk with Aurelius. Draco stared back stubbornly. He had definitely not forgiven that bastard for attacking him last time.

From what Harry had told him, it had been no problem at all to get Greyson to stop sending Odysseus to Grimmauld Place. Problem was that Harry, in his infinite thoughtlessness, had requested to be sent his favourite owl Kassandra instead. Which was the owl Draco usually got.

So now it seemed that _Draco_ was stuck with Odysseus and there was no way he could ask Greyson to switch owls again. He doubted that the coach would be so willing to accommodate Draco as he had been with Harry.

Well, at least Greyson didn’t owl Draco nearly as often as Harry.

“Draco, dear!” Mrs. Capitelli was waving over at him from her front yard.

Unfortunately, Draco would’ve seen her even if she hadn’t been waving. She was wearing her yoga pants. He sighed and went over before she could decide to take a jog across the street. He didn’t really need to see all _that_ in motion. Besides, that beast could stand to wait for him. She was definitely more pleasant company.

“Good morning, Mrs. Capitelli,” he said politely while Aurelius went over to sniff at her hands and then collected his share of kindness and affection.

“You’re up early,” said Mrs. Capitelli, frowning at him in concern. “Is everything alright? It’s Valentine’s Day!”

“Of course, Mrs. Capitelli.” Draco didn’t point out that she was already up as well. “I’ve got the morning shift at the hospital.”

Draco looked over at his hedge – Odysseus was still there, staring at him in a way that certainly wouldn’t seem normal to Muggles. He’d have to key him into his wards later – an eagle owl was much more suspicious than a pygmy.

Be that as it may, he really didn’t want Mrs. Capitelli to notice – she was a superstitious woman, and getting followed by owls (especially ones carrying scrolls of parchment) was probably a bad omen. He didn’t have time to listen to all of it now.

“And everything’s alright with Enrico as well?” Her eyes roamed his face curiously.

Draco only just managed not to roll his eyes. He doubted she’d ever accept that Harry’s name wasn’t really _Enrico_. Or that he wasn’t even Italian, as a matter of fact.

“He’s doing great. We’re going out later,” he said enthusiastically. The fastest way to get rid of her was to tell her what she wanted to hear.

“Oh, there is this new Italian restaurant in the city,” she gushed. “Really _authentic._ You should take him there!”

“Mrs. Capitelli, you can’t possibly want me to cancel at Linh’s!”

“No, you’re right, Draco dear.” Draco was pretty sure she was only agreeing because she had informants at Linh’s and they were playing right into her cards by going there. “But you should still take him there another time. You could both use a proper meal.”

“Fine,” Draco agreed, taking a few steps back. “I promise. I’ve got to get ready for work now, but I appreciate the tip.”

He gave her a smile and then got the hell out of there.

Odysseus was waiting outside Draco’s kitchen window and he didn’t look pleased when Draco rearranged the warding spells around him before opening the window and letting him in – not that Draco had expected him to. He guessed that Odysseus liked being at Draco’s house just as much as Draco liked having him there.

Greyson had written to tell him off, of course. Signing Mills off for two weeks because of a cracked skull was apparently ‘excessive’.

Draco used a spell to copy a page out of his Healer’s textbook, underlined the applicable passage in bright red ink and tossed it at Odysseus. Then he drew his wand and pointed it first at the owl and then the open window.

The meaning was clear: ‘ _Leave immediately or I’ll make you’_.

He had no desire to spend the next five minutes convincing Odysseus to leave.

The owl took flight at once. Draco really should have started doing that much earlier … but Harry never would have let him threaten an owl in his house, even if it was this bastard.

Too fucking noble, that idiot.

~o~

Draco was happy. Work had been a real hot mess, like every Valentine’s Day, but after dinner with Harry, he found he didn’t even care that much. The night was relatively mild, the streets were completely empty, and they were walking back to Draco’s, where he was sure the night would get even better.

“We should just do it today,” said Harry suddenly. He stopped walking and turned Draco around by his hand so they were standing face to face, directly underneath a street lamp.

Draco grinned and stepped closer, burying his free hand in Harry’s hair. “I thought that was the plan all along?”

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed him away with a hand against his chest, immediately pulling him back in with the other hand, which was still holding Draco’s.

“I’m not talking about _sex_. I’m talking about _this_.” Harry held up both their hands so that the back of Harry’s was level with Draco’s eyes. He could barely make out the words etched into his skin, but of course he knew them by heart. _‘I must not tell lies.’_

Immediately, Draco shook his head. “ _No_. We are not prepared.”

Harry sounded determined. “Yes, we are. You know what went wrong last time. You _know_ what you want to do differently.”

“In _theory_! There’s no guarantee that it’ll work!”

“You’ll never know if you don’t test your theory. There’s never gonna be a guarantee.”

“Well, then maybe I’ll never do it.”

Harry came a tiny step closer and pressed his lips to the back of Draco’s hand, still raised up in the air between them. His eyes never left Draco’s.

“Please, _Draco_.”

“Why?” said Draco in near-desperation. “You _beat_ her. I thought you _owned_ that scar. You said it reminds you to never stop fighting for what’s right. Why do you want to get rid of it now?”

Harry came really close now. He placed his free hand over the back of the other so the words were covered. His words were silent but unwavering.

“No matter where I go, people stare at me. I’m sort of used to it when it’s in the Wizarding world, but I can’t take it out here, when it’s regular people. I thought I could get a rest here, but people _still_ stare. They stare at _this_ ,” Harry looked up to indicate his forehead, “and they stare at _this_.” Harry waved their hands a little.

“ _Harry_ ...,” said Draco pleadingly. “Don’t make me say yes to this.”

“I just want to be normal for once.”

Harry kept staring at him imploringly and Draco made the mistake of looking back. Harry didn’t show him much, but he also didn’t _have_ to.

Draco only got a few images of stares and second glances and whispers behind his back, and that was enough. Draco knew what feeling like an outcast was like. How could he say no to Harry?

Draco blinked and the memories were replaced by Harry’s eyes. He took a deep breath and said, “Fine.”

~o~

“You’re _really_ sure you want to do this tonight?”

They were back in the unused treatment room and Draco had switched his nice clothes for a pair of sterile scrubs.

Harry was already lying on the treatment table – shirtless, because Draco wanted to keep an eye on that wretched scar on his chest. He didn’t trust it much and was afraid it could just decide to act up at the wrong time.

Harry gave him a determined look and tightened the straps around his lower arm and wrist that would hopefully keep his hand still. His Quidditch ring glittered in the bright overhead lights.

“It’s too late to back out _now_ , Malfoy.”

“Merlin help us,” muttered Draco as he numbed the area around the scar with essence of valerian. “Alright, I need to see you’re really out before I start.”

Harry rolled his eyes and picked up his wand.

Draco didn’t care if Harry thought he was being overcautious. One could _never_ be too careful and he wasn’t going to risk anything because of a malfunction.

“ _Lumos_ ,” said Harry. He grinned at Draco when nothing at all happened. “See? The ring never fails. Hermione enchanted it personally.”

Almost mechanically, Draco took the camera and snapped a few pictures of the scar for his research paper. Then he closed his eyes and breathed in and out several times.

He could do this. Harry wasn’t going to lose function of his Snitch hand because of him. In his head he had played this through countless times.

He raised his wand in the left and the scalpel in his right hand.

As expected, the first cut was the hardest. Draco felt Harry flinch despite his best efforts to keep it hidden. He stopped to look at Harry for reassurance and was rewarded with green eyes glowering at him.

“Don’t stop _now_ , you idiot. I can manage. It’s not worse than when she made me cut those words into my own skin in the first place.”

“This is _so_ messed up,” Draco muttered to himself.

He kept working, glancing at the scar on Harry’s chest every now and then.

The moment of truth came a good ten minutes later.

There was just a small patch of skin still connected to the rest. This was it.

They looked at each other and Harry nodded, his shoulders tense and jaw locked tight. Draco cast a shield charm and took a deep breath to steel himself. Harry turned his head away.

Draco cut. And nothing at all happened.

“What are you waiting for?” said Harry harshly after a few seconds of silence. “Just do it already.”

Draco cleared his throat and dropped the scalpel into the bin. There wasn’t much colour to his voice when he said, “I just did.”

Harry’s head whipped around. He stared at his hand, then at Draco. “It worked?”

“I think so ...”

Draco tapped his wand against the open wound and it sealed itself shut neatly, leaving behind smooth skin, the tone not a bit lighter than the rest of Harry’s hand. Draco took another picture immediately, telling himself it _wasn’t_ because he was afraid it wouldn’t hold.

“It worked!” Harry unstrapped his arm and raised his hand above his face to have a good look. He gave him a glowing look and said, “Draco Malfoy, you’re a bloody genius.”

Draco didn’t get a chance to answer, because the next second Harry took off his ring and the pent-up force left his body all at once.

Draco on his exam stool was pushed away several feet. Harry’s head was slammed back against the table with a _BANG_.

Harry was on his feet and by Draco’s side in an instant. Merlin knew he was used to getting knocked in the head.

“Are you alright?”

Draco pulled his scolding hot necklace out from underneath his clothes so it couldn’t burn his skin and nodded numbly. He felt like screaming.

Instead, he muttered, “Fuck ... I really thought we had it.”

Harry took Draco’s face into his hands and beamed down at him. “We do! It doesn’t even hurt, and you’ll figure this out, too. But you did it!”

Harry looked at him with so much affection that Draco could barely stand it.

He rose to his feet and Harry put one hand into his hair and the other around his waist, pulling him close. Their lips met even before their bodies did, and then Harry was everything Draco felt.

Harry’s hot chest was pressed against Draco’s, and his hand kept brushing through his hair recklessly, and his lips were soft and demanding all at once, and Draco’s heart felt like it would burst out of his chest any second.

He tried to pull Harry closer, which was just straight up impossible, and then Harry’s arm around his waist tightened and he turned them around, pushing Draco against the table and coming to rest between his legs when Draco dropped down onto it. Then Harry’s mouth was on his neck and Draco dropped his head back against the wall to give him more space.

And then everything went wrong.

There was a loud _BANG_ as the door flew open and hit the wall.

Harry and Draco burst apart when two people came crashing in, engaged in a heated tongue-fight. The taller one of them – clearly male – pressed the other against the wall. They were both breathing excessively, moaning and grunting like animals.

Then the man cast a look over his shoulder – probably to check out all the surfaces that were available to them – and froze. He turned his back on the woman, blocking her from their view with his body.

It was Jarret Abrams, which meant that the other person had to be his girlfriend Courtney Nash (the one who had tried to help Draco with his Gryffindor curse patient and talked to the family afterwards).

Harry and Draco were a few feet apart, but Draco was sure that it didn’t look as innocent as they wished.

Draco was the one sitting on the exam table, for one, which certainly wasn’t where the Healer was supposed to be. He got to his feet immediately, but he doubted that Abrams would forget he hadn’t been standing a second ago. He wasn’t _that_ stupid.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” breathed Abrams. He didn’t close his mouth after he was done using it and just stood there gaping at them.

Draco was painfully aware that his hair was a mess, and that Harry’s looked like it had exploded. Harry also wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Draco’s scrubs were about as straight as he was. Then there were the matching necklaces. Also, they were breathing heavily and Draco just knew his face was flushed.

Nash was still hiding behind Abrams, though Draco wasn’t sure why. _Their_ relationship certainly wasn’t a secret. Draco had heard them going at it in the on-call room often enough.

“ _I thought you locked it!_ ” Harry hissed, turning his back on Abrams so he couldn’t watch him put his shirt on.

“ _I did!_ ” Draco hissed back.

He was one hundred percent sure of it. Nobody should have been able to just open the door like that. Nobody except –

He was pretty sure that he knew now why nobody ever used that treatment room.

“ _Chief_ Cortez.” It wasn’t a question.

“Healer Malfoy.”

She grabbed Abrams’ arm and moved him to the side so they could see each other. Then she spotted Harry, who – judging by her expression – was probably the last person she’d have expected.

“And ... Mr. Potter.”

Draco entertained the idea of telling her about their research, but the way she looked at them made it pretty clear that she knew exactly what was going on.

Draco’s hand found its way to his neck quite involuntarily, which was probably unwise if he _didn’t_ want her to notice the oncoming bruise.

Nobody said anything for a few seconds, during which they stared at each other.

Draco cast a glance over his shoulder at Harry, who was clenching his fists. Maybe he was debating if he could just Obliviate Cortez and Abrams with a clear conscience.

“So ... I believe nobody wants this to leave the room,” Draco began casually, straightening his clothes. “Seeing as there are regulations that clearly forbid the Chief to have relations with his or her subordinates.”

“I think there is something in there that prevents Healers from treating their … _‘relations’_ as well,” Cortez said just as matter-of-factly.

“And your _husband_ would certainly not be amused,” Draco continued, looking from Cortez to Abrams. “Also, I thought you and Nash were back together?”

Abrams didn’t say anything, but it seemed like Cortez didn’t want him to anyway. She focused her attention on Harry, who shifted uncomfortably.

“The Daily Prophet is asking about you constantly, Mr. Potter. I would never give out _medical_ information, of course.” She scrutinised them both. “But this doesn’t seem all that medical.”

Draco and Cortez fixed each other for a moment, sizing each other up.

Then Draco said, “I guess that means none of us were ever here?”

“Nor will any of us ever come here again,” she agreed.

Then she glanced at Abrams, who just nodded shortly and then immediately turned around and left without another word. Cortez took a second to look from Draco to Harry and back with clear disbelief in her eyes and then she left too, leaving the door wide open.

There was a deep, relieved sigh as Harry dropped down onto the table. “Well, now I’m _really_ glad I’m dating a Slytherin.”

Draco gave him a tired smile and gathered his things while Harry buttoned up his shirt and then took out his Cloak and vanished.

“Let’s just hope Abrams doesn’t decide he likes money and five minutes of fame more than his career and girlfriend.”

Harry’s head actually reappeared so he could glare at Draco. “Are you aware you’re kinda ruining the moment right now?”

“Just saying.” Draco came over to drag the hood back over Harry’s head. “Don’t be shocked when it gets out after all.”

There was a sigh and then Harry kissed him softly, brushing a hand through his hair. He didn’t say anything in response and Draco almost wished his face were still visible so he could tell how Harry felt about the thought.

Probably not in favour – if you asked him, publicity was what ruined a relationship. Also, what had happened to Chang certainly hadn’t helped change his mind.

It had also pretty much convinced _Draco_ that he never wanted their secret to come to light – if there were people willing to attack Harry’s ex-girlfriend from ten years ago, he really didn’t want to know what they were willing to do to his current, very male, very ex-Death Eater boyfriend.

Nothing good, most likely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: something a little different.


	61. This Is the Beat of My Heart [Wednesday, March 1st 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments: Fan, XOX_Eternity_XOX, BookLovingManiac99, Slytherinz_Ghost, M.a., illindalenti, Justforthedead, GreeneySilvery (Damn, did you have much to say! Thank you so much!), De_Borah, kylorrren, noodledoodlezoo, ThatBoringOne, filidoune and Zezily. 😊
> 
> 🧸 To everybody who’s waiting for Teddy: He will be making an appearance before March is over!
> 
> Now, it would be a shame if something happened to our boys! 😇
> 
> Title: Panic at the Disco – This is Gospel

Harry dropped onto Draco’s couch as soon as he stepped out of the fireplace. Aurelius bounded over immediately and lay down across Harry’s legs, who started scratching behind his ears.

“Don’t encourage that bastard!” Draco called over to him from halfway inside his kitchen cabinet, which he was trying to put back in order.

True to his character, Harry just ignored him and continued to completely spoil the dog.

“What did he do?”

Draco indicated the whole of his kitchen floor, which was full with everything that had formerly been inside his cabinets. “What does it look like?”

“Like he knows all that boxed stuff is _bad_ for you?” Harry summoned a box of spaghetti and studied the back.

“It’s cheap and fast,” objected Draco.

“And full of additives. Also, this one has expired.”

Draco sat down and leaned against one of his kitchen chairs. “That’s your fault, really. Between you, Mrs. Weasley and eating out with the others, there’s no chance to eat all this.”

“As you shouldn’t.” Harry vanished the box and continued scratching Aurelius. “Just stuff everything in a bag and we’ll drop it off at the food bank or something.”

Draco took in the scene – his whole floor a sea of boxes and cans – and decided to just roll with it. He couldn’t even really remember when he’d last eaten anything of this.

He conjured a bag and then shrank and syphoned everything inside. His floor was cleared in under a minute.

“That’s a good boy,” said Harry, looking not at Aurelius but Draco.

Draco grabbed the nearest thing he could reach, which was a Chocolate Snitch box, and threw it at him. Unfortunately, the bastard caught it.

“I hope you get _McCarthy_ ,” said Draco, coming over to sit in the armchair opposite him.

“Break my heart, why don’t you?”

Harry faked a hurt expression and unwrapped the box. He ripped the wings off and then offered Draco the body, which was rather nice, all things considered.

Draco took it and watched as Harry turned around the trading card. It definitely wasn’t Timothy McCarthy, because Harry smiled down at it with clear affection.

“You seem happy,” said Draco drily. “Did you get Potter? Heard he doesn’t really live up to his reputation.”

“ _Ha ha,_ ” said Harry, but Draco could see the corners of his mouth twitch. He showed him the card. “Better.”

Draco grinned. “You should definitely ask her to sign it when we’re at the Burrow tonight.”

“About that ...” Harry grimaced and threw Ginny’s card onto the coffee table. “Something came up, so you’ll have to go on ahead and I’ll catch up later.”

“ _Something_ came up? You really want me to face the Weasleys alone? On your best mate’s birthday?”

Harry scoffed. “You won’t be alone. Blaise will be there, right? Besides, they’re _your_ friends, too.”

“Don’t remind me. Now tell me what came up.”

Harry turned serious all of a sudden. “Cho wants to meet.”

This was definitely not what Draco had expected. Last time Harry had heard from Chang, she’d made it pretty clear that she never wanted to see him again, because she feared for her safety. And who could blame her?

“She ... what? I thought she wanted nothing more to do with you?”

“That’s what she said.” Harry shrugged. “But now she wrote me another letter. Sam sent it to me this morning.”

Draco broke a piece off his Chocolate Snitch and turned it over two times before finally popping it into his mouth. It didn’t really make him feel any better.

“And what did it say?”

“To meet her today at six.” Harry leaned over and stole a piece of his chocolate (greedy bastard!). “She’ll be at a pub in Muggle London – there’s something about a horse in the name. Never heard of it, but that’s probably why she chose it. Guess she’s still scared someone will recognise us.”

Draco frowned. “You’re going to meet in London? I thought she _left_ England.”

“Maybe she had some things left to arrange, I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“I don’t like this. Why would she change her mind so quickly? She’s only been gone a few weeks.”

Now Harry was frowning too. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

There was no way to wrap it up all nicely, so Draco just said it outright. “What if she’s planning to get back at you?”

And now Harry was glaring. “You don’t know her, but I do. She may be a bit dramatic, but she’s not the vengeful type. Somebody tried to actually _murder_ her because of me! I owe her at least a personal apology.”

Draco rolled his eyes and got up, pointing at his chest. “You’re usually so paranoid! And now you just trust that she doesn’t have ill intentions?”

Harry got up too, which displeased Aurelius greatly. “You’ve got to know _who_ to trust!”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

They glared at each other, hands balled into fists. It was a testament to how far they’d come that there were no drawn wands. Small comfort.

Harry reduced his eyes to slits as one final glare, probably to make it clear that he wasn’t giving up, just leaving, and strode past him to the fireplace. He threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire with way too much force and roaring green flames shot up.

“Am I going to see you at the Weasleys’?”

Draco’s voice was cool and even. “We’ll see.”

~o~

If _anybody_ was allowed to stalk Harry Potter, it was Draco.

First of all, he was Harry’s boyfriend.

Second of all, Harry had stalked Draco so much that Draco definitely had a few free passes left. Maybe _that_ should’ve been _‘first of all’_ , but be that as it may, Draco was all set up.

Besides, was it really _stalking_ if Draco got there first? It wasn’t his fault if he chose to have a drink at the same pub Harry would be at in about ten minutes. Coincidence.

Draco was sitting at a corner table, wearing one of the glamours Harry had given him for emergencies and hoping that Harry wouldn’t recognise it. He’d thought about using the Invisibility Cloak, but that seemed like a terrible idea inside a Muggle pub.

Chang was already there, wearing a red, skin-tight dress and sitting at the tiniest table they had, which meant she and Harry would have to sit very close to each other. Perfect for trading secrets.

But Draco had come prepared. As discreetly as possible (because it was fucking _gross_ , George be damned!) he took out the gum he’d been chewing for the last few minutes and stuck it behind his ear while focusing on Chang very deliberately. There was a faint whistling noise, then silence. Draco was just considering trying another piece when the Hear-Gum picked up on Chang after all.

“Breathe,” she muttered to herself. “You can do this. You are Cho fucking Chang. He’ll come.”

She was nervous, kept trying to smoothen her long hair (which was just ridiculous) and rearranging the two glasses of juice in front of her (who ordered juice for somebody else?). She constantly turned around to check the clock at the bar.

This was how she nearly missed Harry’s arrival. She was turned around again when he came in and spotted her immediately. He reached the table just when she turned back around and she practically jumped to her feet, nearly knocking both glasses off the table. Harry’s reflexes kicked in and he managed to grab them both before they fell over.

Even from behind him could Draco see that Harry felt incredibly guilty. His shoulders were drawn all the way up and he replaced the glasses hastily, holding up both hands as if to show her he was unarmed.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Sorry.”

It was like she was suddenly a completely different person. She straightened her shoulders, which put her chest on display quite effectively, and gave him a confident smile.

Her voice was steady and pleasant when she said, “ _Harry!_ ”

There was a moment’s hesitation before she stepped up and embraced him. Harry seemed a little stiff, though Draco was sure he was trying. It sounded like he was patting her back too, which definitely meant that he was uncomfortable. Well, at least he hadn’t zapped her. Yet.

Chang let go at just the right moment and sat back down with deliberate movements, tossing back her long hair. Then she slid one of the glasses over to Harry and gave him another smile.

“You do like juice, right?”

Draco, who knew Harry well enough by now, seemed the only one to notice the split-second hesitation before Harry said lightly, “Sure.”

Harry pulled the other chair a little further away from the table, probably to give her some space. She kept smiling and held her glass up, waiting for him to do the same.

“To not dying, I guess,” said Chang.

They both drank.

Harry put his glass away almost immediately and leaned forward. “Listen, Cho. I’m really sorry about what happened to you. I saw what went down when the papers wrote about me and Hermione in our fourth year and I should’ve warned you about the lunatics.”

Chang set her glass down with way too much force. Some of the juice slopped out of it, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Her words sounded strained. “ _Lunatics?_ ”

Harry actually leaned a little away from her. “Yeah. There’s no _sane_ explanation for someone to attack you.” She didn’t answer and after a few seconds Harry added, “You _know_ you didn’t deserve that, right?”

Draco could hear her ragged breathing in his ear, but when she spoke, she was smiling again. “I didn’t ask you here to talk about _that_.”

Now Harry hesitated. “You didn’t?”

She shook her head and smiled again. “You know, Harry ... everything that’s happened has got me thinking. I –” She took another very deep breath. “I’d like to try again.”

“Try ... try _what_?”

“You and me. I feel like we really could’ve been something, you know?”

This time there was not a moment’s hesitation before Harry answered, clear as day: “I’m sorry. I love someone else.”

Draco’s heart was beating rapidly by now. He certainly hadn’t expected her to come on to Harry after nearly having been murdered for that very thing, but Harry’s answer had come as an even bigger surprise.

“ _Oh?_ ” asked Chang, though she seemed almost … _excited_. “Who is it?”

And Harry said the last thing Draco would’ve expected, which was: “Her name is Pansy Parkinson.”

And then Chang replied and it was almost as bad as Harry’s words. She was smiling broadly and said, “Oh, I know where to find her. Shall we go see her now?”

Harry got to his feet at once and she took his arm and led him out of the pub.

Draco knocked over his chair in his hurry to follow them. Somebody shouted after him, but Draco didn’t care. Whatever had just happened certainly wasn’t good news.

He only just saw them enter a side alley at the end of the road and raced after them, pushing people out of his way without a second thought. He reached the alley just as Chang took both of Harry’s hands in hers, clearly about to Apparate.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Draco shouted, pointing his wand at them.

Harry’s shield flared up, pushing Chang a few feet away. Her wand clattered to the ground.

Draco should’ve anticipated Harry’s reaction – his wand was in his hand in a heartbeat and his jinx was flying at Draco before he could do so much as blink. He didn’t have time to produce a shield, but it didn’t matter.

His necklace pulsed. The jinx bounced off and struck the wall.

Draco put his wand hand up in a placating gesture and undid the leather bracelet around his wrist with the other. The glamour wore off and Harry lowered his wand in confusion.

“ _Draco?_ ” Chang seemed even more confused than Harry. “What the fuck are _you_ doing here?”

“A little _gratitude_ , Chang. After all, it’s thanks to _me_ that you got out of that whole mess without a single scar.”

“Oh?” said Chang with a devious grin. She took several steps until she was right in front of him, which meant she was getting further away from Harry. Good. “That was you, was it?”

And then she raised her hand in a flash. Draco thought she was going to slap him, so he brought up both arms to cover his face like Lauren had shown him.

“Traitor!”

Her fist slammed into his chest instead and he stumbled and slammed against the wall behind him.

“Hey!” Harry yelled, obviously in a rage.

He grabbed her hand, which she’d raised again, and she dropped her knife.

Draco looked down at his chest, where the fabric of his shirt was already turning red. He looked at the knife on the ground, its intricate ivory handle, the bloody blade. He looked at Harry, who was staring back at him.

“That’s not good,” said Draco stupidly.

That bitch had really stabbed him.

Was _that_ what it felt like? He felt _fine_. He felt alright. Only that his legs were a little wobbly and his fingertips were numb and ... shouldn’t he be able to see better than that? It wasn’t that late yet.

“I think I’m going into shock.”

And then his legs gave out and his brain did a somersault and there were strong arms embracing him.

And that was all.

~o~

Draco groaned. He had a headache and the blinding light overhead stung his eyes even though they were closed. He turned his head to the side and drowsily blinked the world back into vision.

“Welcome back.” That was Blaise’s voice. He was sitting in his visitor’s chair, a copy of _Which Broomstick_ on his legs.

Draco pushed himself up and looked around, but there was no one else in the room with them.

“I’ve got a feeling that Dayal guy doesn’t like you very much,” said Blaise casually. “He wouldn’t allow more than one person in here at a time.”

“ _Great_ ,” muttered Draco. “I got Dayal.”

He pulled his gown away to look down at his chest, which was still a little pink. Sure enough, there was a scar just above his heart. A second year Trainee Healer could’ve healed that better. Fucking Dayal.

“I can’t believe Chang really _stabbed_ me. That bitch.”

Blaise closed his magazine and put it away. “ _Chang_ didn’t stab you. She’s not been in the country for weeks. Unlike Pansy.”

“Fucking hell, Blaise.” Draco rubbed his forehead, trying to rid himself of his fatigue. “Just tell me everything from the beginning.”

“Alright, let’s see.” Blaise leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling like he had all the time in the world. “So, it seems that Pansy went a little crazy after the war.”

“I noticed,” muttered Draco.

“Do you want to hear it or not?” Blaise waited for a second and then, when Draco didn’t say anything else, continued. “So, after the war, nobody wanted anything to do with Pansy. Which is why she went to France. She used the remainder of her parents’ money to start a small business, and it was fairly successful –”

“She always told us they were inviting her to this fashion week thing,” said Draco. “Made it sound pretty big.”

“Creative liberties,” said Blaise. “It seems like growing her business wasn’t as easy as she had thought it would be. She never really managed to blend in with the French, and they always viewed her as an outsider. So, when her third husband left her last year, she came back to England.”

“Looking for investors,” said Draco, remembering what Blaise had told him after the Lightning Blast release party.

“And then she picked a fight with Harry instead, whom she always seems to have blamed for her misfortune, and the few people who were going to grant her a meeting immediately cancelled after that display.”

“Can’t have sat well with her.”

“Well … no. She blamed Harry for that as well. She’s a little obsessed with him, it seems. One of her husbands told me that she subscribed to basically all our papers and went into a rage whenever he was mentioned.”

Draco’s head was spinning, and he draped an arm over his eyes to shield them from the harsh lights.

“She read Witch Weekly?” he muttered finally.

“Yes,” said Blaise slowly. “She must’ve snapped when that article came out. She attacked Chang, cut off half her hair and got some Polyjuice from Merlin-knows-where. Then she wrote Harry a letter to get him down to the pub. She turned into Chang and spiked Harry’s drink with love potion –”

Draco groaned inwardly – how _blind_ could he be?

“And then she tried to take him home, which was apparently when you entered the scene. Harry says he didn’t even know you were there.”

“Well, I thought the whole deal sounded fishy, so I came to _check_ on him.”

“ _Naturally_.” Blaise was definitely supressing a grin. “Well, you disarmed Pansy, so she couldn’t just Apparate with Harry.”

“So she stabbed me? We were friends!”

Blaise gave him a tired smile. “Well, she was furious about your intervention. And apparently _also_ about the fact that you didn’t go to Azkaban when she had to leave the country. Also, it certainly didn’t help that you’ve gotten so popular since you’re with the Falcons and she’s … not. Then the thing with Harry publicly speaking out for you … So she stabbed you.”

“That’s mental …”

“Well, Harry definitely didn’t like her attacking you. He brought you here. Left her in that alley fully body-bound.”

“Did the love potion wear off that quickly?”

Blaise laughed. “Most definitely not. Mungo’s informed me you were here. When we arrived, Harry said, completely calm and collected, which was a dead giveaway if I ever saw one, _‘Good, you can take over then. I’ve got to find Pansy.’_ And he had this really weird look, like someone laundered him with fabric softener.”

Draco couldn’t help but snort, because the alternative would have been to scream and his lungs didn’t feel up for it.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen that look on his face.”

Blaise patted his arm. “Hermione knew what was up instantly, of course. So, we got him a Healer and they sorted him out in no time. And then he freaked out _properly_ , which was way less scary than that dopey grin on his face, honestly.”

“Alright, _that_ I can picture.”

Blaise winked at him. “It seems that even under the influence, he still cared about you enough to not want to see you die. So that’s nice, I guess? Probably helped that Pansy didn’t look like herself when she tried to murder you, though.”

“So why isn’t Harry here then?”

Blaise faked a hurt look. “What, am I not your best friend anymore? You made _me_ your emergency contact, remember?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Well, I can’t very well put down _Harry fucking Potter’s_ name, can I?”

“I’d really like to see that.” Blaise grinned. “But be that as it may. Harry agreed it would be less suspicious if I went in first. People are already confused about why he was there for your stabbing in Muggle London in the first place.”

“Perfect. So, we’ll have to think of an explanation before the Aurors get here.”

Draco leaned his head back against the pillow. Merlin, there was too much thinking involved in this whole business. If his head had been swimming before, it was verging on drowning now.

“ _Well_ ...” said Blaise, followed by an unnaturally long pause.

Draco sighed. “They were already here.”

“Yes.”

“ _And?_ ”

Blaise leaned back in his chair. “Well, you know he’s an _awful_ liar.”

Great. Draco couldn’t _wait_ to hear what kind of convoluted story Harry had fabricated.

“Just tell me what I’ve got to tell them when they come to question me.”

Blaise held both hands up in a placating gesture. “Just tell them the truth.”

Draco’s heart dropped all the way into the basement. “The truth? The _real_ one?”

“Well, that’s what Harry told the Aurors. After he tried to make something up, which fell through almost immediately.”

“ _Merlin_.” Draco leaned back into his pillows and draped an arm over his eyes to keep out the light. “So, I guess I can read all about it in the Prophet tomorrow?”

“It’s not _that_ bad. Auror Jenkins – she’s the one who questioned you after Harry’s poisoning, remember? Well, she promised to make this case top secret, in light of recent events. So you don’t get slaughtered in the streets, etcetera.”

“ _Still_.” Draco wasn’t whining. Honest. “That’s way too many people who know. That one mediwitch Edith. Abrams and Cortez. And now the Aurors? I’ve got a feeling this won’t end well.”

“Maybe it’s time you told his secretary?”

Draco breathed out heavily, which produced a shallow ache in his left lung. Fucking Dayal.

“Honestly, Blaise? Everything’s so fucked up right now, I don’t even know who’s a suspect anymore.”

Blaise sighed. “Well, you don’t need to worry about that right now. You’re going to be fine and the Aurors already arrested Pansy.”

There was a short knock and the door swung open almost at the same moment. Dayal leaned against the door frame, looking almost bored.

“No more than ten minutes per visitor.”

Draco gave him a cold look. “You just made that rule up.”

“You know, Malfoy, you seem _agitated_. As your Healer I think it would be advisable to limit visits to five minutes. Also, visiting hours end in thirty minutes.”

Dayal left the door open as he went.

“He _really_ doesn’t like you,” said Blaise, getting to his feet.

“Probably because I _‘stole his job’_ ,” said Draco, holding his hand out in a silent demand.

Blaise sighed, grabbed the chart from the foot of Draco’s bed and handed it to him. “I’ll send in Harry next.”

It took Harry nearly five minutes to come in, which was more than enough time for Draco to study his own chart twice. He raised an eyebrow at Harry.

“Took you long enough.”

Harry threw the door shut and glared at it. “Dayal insisted on doing about a million hygienic charms to make sure I don’t _infect_ you or something.”

“That’s bollocks. It’s not like I’m lying here with a gaping wound or something.”

“He _definitely_ hates you. Speaking of which –”

Harry came over in three long strides and punched Draco’s shoulder. Then he grabbed his face in both hands and pressed his lips against Draco’s forehead forcefully.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

“I was _thinking_ that Chang was acting weird. And might I remind you that I was fucking right and you nearly got yourself _abducted_?”

Harry moved the chair as close to the bed as possible and dropped down heavily.

“And you nearly got _stabbed_ to death. I think we can agree that’s worse!”

“Oh, _please_.” Draco scoffed and waved with his chart. “That idiot didn’t even manage to stab me right. She was holding the knife all wrong. Didn’t even get past the ribs.”

“Yeah, that’s a real consolation. Completely makes me forget what you look like when you get stabbed!”

“Well, then I really don’t see the problem.”

Harry punched him a second time. “ _Why_ do I like you again? I honestly can’t remember.”

“I think it was my muscular physique and incredibly quick wit.”

“Certainly _wasn’t_ your people skills.”

Draco was just about to say something about _Harry’s_ people skills when the door opened again, this time without any warning at all. Dayal pointed at his watch. “Time’s up.”

“Rubbish!” said Harry hotly. “I’ve been in here less than three minutes.”

“Malfoy was stabbed in the _heart_ not three hours ago –”

“He only got his ribs nicked!”

“– and needs to rest. No more visitors for today.”

“I think it’s time to discharge myself,” said Draco calmly, pushing away his blanket.

Dayal crossed his arms. “As your Healer I _strongly_ advise you to –”

“Just let me sign the damn form, Dayal.”

~o~

It was almost midnight when they finally made it to Richmond. Dayal had taken an eternity to send someone over with the discharge forms and by then, the Aurors had come back to question Draco and _that_ had taken nearly an hour too.

The questioning hadn’t been all that bad. The Aurors had been polite and discreet, even though Draco had definitely seen Auror Jenkins’ two partners exchange incredulous looks when Draco told them that he had in fact been at the pub to look after his boyfriend, Harry fucking Potter.

Now he was lying in his own bed, Aurelius curled up at his feet and Harry practically on top of him. That man really didn’t know how to handle someone who had just gotten stabbed in the chest (but Draco wasn’t complaining).

“So,” said Draco slowly, twisting some of Harry’s hair around his fingers and watching it bounce back when he released it. “When are you going to say it?”

Harry grumbled and pressed a kiss against his neck. “Not yet. Don’t want you to think getting stabbed for me was okay.”

“You’re welcome.”

Harry poked him in the side. “I said not yet.”

“Well, I think I deserve a _‘thank you’_ ,” said Draco modestly. “You could be fawning over _Pansy_ right now, doing her every bidding. Like endorsing her in public, maybe holding a press conference to announce your engagement.”

“As if that would have worked. People would’ve taken one look at me and realised something was up.”

“I didn’t say it was a _good_ plan. But it definitely would’ve given the other loons out there ideas.”

“ _Gross_.” Harry shuddered and pressed another kiss against his neck. “I’m never drinking anything again.”

Draco continued playing with Harry’s hair. “Love potion could just as well be hidden in your food.”

Harry bit his neck and then held him tight when Draco tried to squirm away, whispering in his ear, “Don’t ruin eating for me.”

“Or what? You’ll eat _me_ instead?”

“Tempting.”

Draco took Harry’s hand and placed it on his chest. Harry’s fingers traced the old scars he’d given him himself and finally came to rest on the newest one, right above his heart. Draco kissed him softly.

“Thanks for saving my arse,” said Harry sincerely. “Guess I’m lucky to have a stalker like you.”

Draco kissed his lips, then his cheek and finally his forehead. “I promise to stalk you for as long as you want me to.”

“That’s a pretty long time.” And Harry smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... sorry if you usually like Pansy! 🙄


	62. Don’t You Ask Me If It’s Not My Day [Saturday, March 11th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much to everybody who keeps brightening my day with sweet comments: XOX_Eternity_XOX, Fan, Justforthedead, WildvanillaRose, Zezily, illindalenti, ThatBoringOne, SimplySomeone, kylorrren, CorvetteClaire, Slytherinz_Ghost, SHkatty, Domeneeka, filidoune and Fandomwarriorqueen! 🥰
> 
> Also, welcome to the bingers!
> 
> Glad you guys liked Draco getting stabbed! I’ll do it in every chapter now!
> 
> Okay, folks. I wrote this chapter months ago, so please don’t blame me for the current relevance! If you don’t want to read about quarantine (just a day, and not really angsty, I promise), you should maybe skip this one. I’ll include a summary in the end notes.
> 
> Title: Alright, I have a feeling this one’s from a song as well, but I can’t remember! If you know, please tell me, it’s driving me slowly insane!

Everybody who had ever been bled on knew _that_ was no fun – as did anybody who’d ever been in the way of someone sicking up.

What many people _didn’t_ know about was how unpleasant it was to be victim of someone who was vomiting and bleeding on you all in one, especially if that situation arose without a warning.

As Draco was washing the blood out of his hair, he really wished he’d still number amongst those innocent souls.

His patient had come in with a pair of scissors sticking out of his shoulder. There simply was no reason for blood in his stomach – Draco hadn’t even considered the _possibility_ that he could start vomiting blood.

He’d leaned over his patient to take a better look at the wound and there it had happened.

At least Tabitha Woods had been nearby to take over immediately, so Draco could get rid of the blood as per protocol.

It took ten minutes until he felt vaguely clean again, but the feeling dissipated as soon as he tried to exit the changing rooms.

Two Healers were flanking the door, and _that_ was never a good sign. One of them was wearing yellow scrubs, which meant Magical Bugs. The other was dressed in all red – Curses.

“Fuck,” groaned Draco, retreating.

Bugs followed, a small middle-aged woman with long blond hair. A protective spell was shimmering all around her, like a second skin.

Great. So much for his plans for the evening.

Draco sat down on a bench and took the vial of potion she handed him. “What’s he got?”

“Unsure as of now.” Her voice was warm and uplifting.

She watched him take the potion and then started a series of diagnostic spells, many of which involved intricate wand movements.

“He spent a year in Egypt, researching a newly discovered tomb, so there’s a possibility that he reawakened some forgotten disease.”

“ _Perfect_ ,” muttered Draco, thumping the back of his head against the wall lightly. “And where does Curses come into the mix?”

“I’m afraid we could also be looking at a Blood Curse.”

“ _Great_.” A deep sigh. “Well, let’s not keep him waiting then.”

Bugs smiled at him reassuringly and went outside to send in Curses.

After thoroughly examining and then disinfecting him, they took him to a three-bed room.

The Trauma Trainee Healer who’d been on Draco’s service was there already, sitting on the bed nearest to the door. Her eyes were puffy, her face red and blotchy. She was holding her pillow close to her chest like a life-line.

Draco chose the bed at the window and dropped his research material (which they’d allowed him to get from his locker) onto it. Then he kicked off his shoes and sat down cross-legged.

His Trainee Healer was blinking up at the ceiling, lips pressed together.

“There’s no need to panic, Schuster” said Draco in his calmest voice. “This happens from time to time. You’ll get used to it.”

“To being infected with a _life-threatening disease?_ ” she said between hiccups. She turned her head away, but he could still see the tears falling onto her pillow.

“We’re most likely fine. This is just a precaution. We’ve taken the medicine; they’re watching us closely. Could even be that there’s _nothing_ wrong with the patient at all.”

“And if there _is_ a Blood Curse?”

“Then there’s a chance it’s not contagious. And even if it were, we’d be in good hands. Especially this early. Besides, _did_ you even come in contact with his blood?”

She shook her head vehemently. Well, lucky her then.

Draco inspected the spot on his right inner arm where they’d taken his blood, but it was already healed of course. No need to get nervous. He’d done this plenty of times and there’d never been anything wrong with him.

“See? Then there’s nothing to worry about in the first place. You’ll be fine. Just take the opportunity to get a full night’s sleep for once. Or catch up on some of your course work. Merlin knows there’s not enough time to stay on top of it.”

She nodded hesitantly and used one of her sleeves to dry off her face.

There was a knock on the door and then it opened, revealing Curses and Tabitha Woods, who was clutching a stack of books.

Curses waited until she sat down on the remaining bed and then produced three identical bubbles that floated over to encase each of them. Next, he summoned three sets of vital vials, which took their places at the heads of their beds.

“Somebody will come to check on you every hour,” he said with a grim face, which didn’t exactly seem to help with Schuster’s nervousness. “You’re free to go to the bathroom, but only one can leave their hull at a time. You won’t be able to leave the room. We’ll keep you informed about our progress.”

Tabitha looked over at Draco as the door closed with a snap. “Not exactly how I pictured my Saturday night.”

“Tell me about it.” Draco flicked his wand at the stack on his side table, rearranging it more neatly. “Did you notice anything about the patient after I was gone?”

Tabitha shrugged. “Can’t say I did. I checked for internal bleeding, but there wasn’t any, so I just healed the wound, which didn’t cause any issues. And then Bugs took over from me and that was that.”

Draco sighed and leaned back against the head board. “Standard quarantine time is twenty-four hours.” He checked the clock on their wall. “So, we’ll be here until three pm tomorrow unless they figure him out before that.”

Tabitha chose one of her books and opened it seemingly at random. “Did you have something _better_ to do?”

And that was when it really hit him. He _did_ have something better to do. Draco massaged his forehead, trying to get rid of the headache before it could manifest properly.

“The Falcons are playing the Wanderers.”

Tabitha grimaced. Schuster was staring at him. He didn’t much care for that, but decided to allow it, seeing as she was in distress.

“Who’s your backup?”

Draco shrugged helplessly. “I’ve never missed a match. I guess Greyson will have to officially request someone?” Draco banged his head against the head board. “ _Fuck_ , I’ll have to write to him.”

He’d been planning on telling Harry that he wouldn’t be able to make dinner because of an extensive emergency healing or something, so he wouldn’t worry needlessly. But _that_ plan was out of the window now.

He’d have to tell Greyson the truth, which meant that Harry would hear about it too. Not exactly the best conditions for his match tomorrow.

Well, it was only three pm, which was when his shift would normally end, so Harry wouldn’t start worrying for maybe another hour. It wasn’t unusual for Draco to run late at work.

Draco took out his scroll of parchment and spent the next half hour writing his letter to Greyson, trying to word it so that it was clear he couldn’t possibly come to work the match tomorrow while emphasising that it was by no fault of his own.

He handed it over to the next Healer that came to check on them, who promised to send the letter as soon as it was decontaminated.

Tabitha glanced at him over the top of her book (which she had been doing every few minutes ever since she’d picked it up).

“Wow, that took you long.”

“No kidding,” said Draco.

He considered writing a second letter, this time to Harry, but decided against it pretty much instantly. He didn’t want to hand a letter addressed to _Harry bloody Potter_ over to some random Healer in the hopes that he would pass it on unopened. Well, that only left the Protean.

Draco got up and went into the bathroom.

First, he examined himself in the mirror to see if there was anything unusual, like a rash or maybe discoloration of the eyes.

Everything seemed to be in order, so he sat down on the closed toilet and pulled his Snitch necklace out from underneath his scrubs.

He’d just play it casual, especially after the whole stabbing business not two weeks ago. Make it seem like this was no big deal. Harry’s nightmares had already gotten so much worse. It was imperative to avoid giving Harry any funny ideas – like donning his Cloak and sneaking into a quarantine zone.

Draco pointed his wand at the Snitch until it turned hot against his skin, the surface reading, _‘I’m in standard 24-hour quarantine because of a minor event. Could you walk Aurelius? Meet at mine tomorrow after match’._

Then he stuffed it back and used the facilities while he was still in there.

The girls were looking at him when he came back, so he asked, “Anybody remember what’s for dinner today?” to distract them, though he didn’t know from what.

It wasn’t like they could know that he’d just messaged his top-secret and very famous boyfriend, who they believed to be as straight as they come.

Woods shook her head.

Schuster hesitated a whole two seconds before saying in a small voice, “I think it’s mashed potatoes and vegetables.”

Draco sighed and laid down on his stomach, propping himself up on his lower arms so he could browse through his research notes.

“Maybe we could bribe one of the Bugs people into getting us pizza?”

Tabitha laughed and turned a page, even though she’d just done that a few seconds ago. “And what do you suggest for dessert?”

The Snitch turned hot again and Draco pressed a hand against it automatically.

Schuster said something that Draco didn’t catch.

He couldn’t go to the bathroom again _that_ soon. They’d think there was something wrong with him. Maybe he could turn his back on them and check the message? But he’d have to turn onto his side to do it and he’d only just lain down.

“Draco?” said Tabitha suddenly. “For dessert?”

“Treacle tart,” said Draco at once.

He didn’t know why he’d said it (though he _did_ know, of course) – he didn’t even like treacle tart all that much. He kept staring at his notes in hopes Tabitha would let the conversation die.

“Is that your favourite?” She wasn’t pretending to read anymore, which seemed to be a sign that she wasn’t intending to stop talking anytime soon.

There was another flare of heat against his chest and Draco pressed down harder.

Maybe he could undo the thread and look at it discreetly? But he didn’t really want to take it off, because then he’d feel like he was going to lose it.

Harry never took off _his_ own either, though that was probably because he didn’t want to feel like he could miss something.

“Draco?”

“Huh?” Draco looked up at her. She was frowning and biting her lower lip. He remembered her question and said, “ _Oh_ , er ... it’s alright. I just had some the other day, that’s why it came to mind.”

And then the Snitch grew hot a third time and Draco couldn’t take it any longer.

As casually as possible, he sat back up, feet on top of the blanket and knees drawn up, and then planted his biggest book against them so that it covered him from views up to his chin. Then he took out the necklace and glanced down at the messages.

_‘Are you ok?’_

_‘What happened?’_

_‘Are you alone?’_

Draco didn’t exactly know why Harry would want to know the last thing, but he had a feeling it had something to do with Patronuses, so he addressed that first.

_‘Two others in quarantine with me. Somebody vomited on me, so I’ve got to stay until they’ve figured him out. I’m alright, just see that you go to sleep early and don’t worry.’_

Draco glanced at the girls to see if they’d noticed anything.

Tabitha quickly looked away. Schuster had curled up into a ball and closed her eyes.

Draco tilted his head back and closed his eyes too. They were starting to burn, but Draco didn’t really worry about that. That was probably just from staring straight down at the Snitch at his chest for that long. Maybe they should switch to notebooks. He’d have to figure out a way to adequately encrypt those.

_‘Are your quarantine mates at least hot? Heading over to yours now.’_

Draco glanced at the girls another time and breathed out more noisily than intended. Tabitha met his eyes for a split second and quickly looked away, blushing.

_‘Sadly no. It’s just Woods and my nineteen-year-old Trainee Healer. Female.’_

Harry’s answer came almost instantly. _‘Tabitha Woods? Seems like she got her date after all.’_

Draco actually snorted. _‘Who knows, maybe one night with these two will finally turn me straight? My parents are probably planning the nuptials already!’_

“Seems to be pretty entertaining,” said Woods out of the blue. She gestured at his book when he didn’t answer and only stared at her, startled. “ _‘The most gruesome Curses, Hexes and Jinxes and living (or dying) with their consequences’_?”

“Oh, well ... I’ve just been thinking about something funny. _Unrelated_ to that.”

Draco didn’t want her to get the impression that he enjoyed looking at mauled corpses too much. He sometimes thought that he didn’t have the best reputation to begin with.

“ _Alright_...,” said Tabitha. She didn’t sound that convinced.

There was no answer from Harry, and after five minutes Draco gave up staring at the Snitch and started to read in earnest, making notes and cross-referencing from time to time.

He dropped the quill when the necklace heated up almost half an hour later.

_‘Great, you distracted me with that mental image and Mrs. Capitelli managed to snatch me. She fed me lasagna! It was an interrogation!’_

Draco huffed a laugh and quickly tried to mask it as a cough.

Tabitha glanced at him again, but this time her eyebrows were drawn together all the way.

Schuster was peeking at him through her lashes. She waited a few seconds before she moved towards the edge of her bed, as if she was trying to get further away from him.

Maybe he shouldn’t have coughed while in quarantine.

Draco sighed inwardly and put the book away. He’d rather risk her seeing the necklace than let her think he was a lunatic who got off on _‘gruesome Curses, Hexes and Jinxes’_.

He looked out of the window while pointing his wand at the Snitch almost incidentally.

_‘That’s your own fault for not being vigilant. Have I taught you nothing?’_

_‘Only thing you taught me is never to turn my back on you!’_

_‘What did I ever do to you?’_

_‘Well, I almost told her about the ferret incident!’_

Which, okay, was fair. Draco _had_ tried to jinx Harry behind his back.

_‘Tonight’s mashed potatoes, so I’ll consider that my punishment.’_

“Oh, that’s pretty,” said Tabitha suddenly, leaning forward on her bed as if she would actually be able to see it better that way. “Where did you get that?”

“It was a present,” said Draco without much infliction.

Then he dropped it back into his scrubs before she had a chance to recognise it as a Snitch. He didn’t want to give her any ideas. Maybe he really was starting to display Harry’s paranoia now.

“Uuh,” said Tabitha, though her enthusiasm seemed oddly fake. “From someone _special?_ ”

What the hell. Draco was going to spend another twenty-three hours in here. He didn’t want to spend them deflecting every single question she asked him.

The necklace burned right next to his heart.

“Yes.” He smiled – a real, genuine smile – and picked up his book again.

It felt like several seconds until Tabitha looked away. She didn’t say anything after that.

Draco only dared to take another look at the necklace when they were sitting over dinner three hours later, trying to force down the mass that was supposed to pass as mashed potatoes.

 _‘Lasagna was good! Had gelato afterwards.’_ The bastard.

_‘Fuck you too.’_

Harry would know what that really meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A patient throws up blood all over Draco, he and two other Healers have to be quarantined for a day until they know what’s wrong with the patient. Draco chats with Harry via Snitch necklace, which Tabitha notices. Draco then basically confirms that he’s seeing the person who gave him the necklace.
> 
> P.S. I did come around to make Harry and Draco as Sims, you can check it out in the [end notes for chapter 53](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129308/chapters/57305848#chapter_53_endnotes)! 😊


	63. It’s All Downhill from Here [Saturday, March 18th 2006)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to some of the best people in world (no, I never exaggerate!): Fan, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Slytherinz_Ghost, Justforthedead, Zezily, Domeneeka, FakeAndGay, Gallavich_endgame_2934, SimplySomeone, Tula, hush_over_the_night, noodledoodlezoo, illindalenti, filidoune, thyholyadashi, SHkatty, You_Wish and kylorrren! 😊
> 
> Glad you liked! I’ll be sure to relay your condolences to Tabitha.
> 
> So, this chapter features some themes you’ve been asking for. Kinda, sorta. 😉

“Coach Greyson kept asking questions about you.”

Draco craned his head out from the bottom bunk and found Courtney Nash looking down at him from the top one.

“What kind of questions?”

“All sorts.” She began counting them on the fingers of her left hand. “What your patients think of you, if I think you’re a good Healer, if you ever tell us about your job with them, that kind of stuff.”

“He asked all those things outright?”

Draco knew that Greyson would like to see him go, but he didn’t think the coach would communicate it so blatantly. He’d probably been gravely disappointed that Draco hadn’t caught anything from his blood vomiting patient, who actually had not been vomiting blood per se – well, not his _own_.

Draco and his colleagues had been released around noon last Sunday, when the patient had finally admitted to ingesting a very cheap knock-off of Blood Replenishing Potion after his scissor accident. There normally wasn’t a single drop of cow’s blood in BRP, let alone did it make up ninety percent of the potion.

Nash grinned. “Don’t be daft! He asked all nicely, like they do. He kept praising the most basic spells I did and then he’d say something like _‘If all the Healers are as charming as you and Malfoy, patients must never wanna leave’_.”

“And then you said, _‘Malfoy? Patients hate him. He kills about five of them every day through sheer incompetence.’_ ”

Nash grinned and then her face vanished. The bunk creaked as she lay back down. “You know me so well.”

Draco grinned up at the ceiling. “Thanks, Nash.”

“Don’t mention it.” She yawned. “I’ll give it another week before the Falcons fire you and request me. And then I’ll snag me a player.”

Draco snorted. “What about Abrams?”

Nash grumbled something and then said, “Never mind that tosser.”

Draco relaxed.

Ever since finding out about Abrams and Chief Cortez and that abandoned treatment room, he’d felt horribly guilty whenever he saw Nash and held his tongue.

He couldn’t tell her, he knew he couldn’t, but still it had gnawed at him.

“Anybody in particular you’d like to _‘snag’_?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind Easton Haynes,” she said, sighing deeply like she was already imagining herself with the Beater. “But of course I’d have to choose someone from a different team, so maybe Ethan Sherwood?”

“He’s dating Kimbrough, though,” said Draco helpfully. It was the least he could do for her.

“Yeah, I’d have to get rid of her first, of course. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Who in their right mind dates their own reserve?”

Draco pushed himself up on both hands. “Why not Haynes, though? There’s no rule against that. They’re not patients, per se. More like potential patients.”

Nash’s face reappeared and Draco sank back onto his back slowly. She was examining his face closely, so he raised an eyebrow.

She grinned. “So, which of them are _you_ dating?”

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” said Nash, grinning even more. “Only Tabitha asked me several times if I knew anything about your _girlfriend_. And you at least seem to have _thought_ about dating someone on the team. So, who is it?”

Draco shook his head and rolled his eyes, as if to say _‘This is too ridiculous to even answer.’_

Nash grinned even more.

“Fine, don’t tell me. I can find out on my own. So, Leona Robinson and Phaedra Armstrong are out. They’re both way more muscular than you.”

“Excuse you?” said Draco, only to be ignored.

“That narrows it down to Lauryn Mason and Florence Mills. But Mills seems more like the quiet type and you seem like somebody who needs a girl who can give you contra. So Mason, then?”

Draco grinned. “I’m pretty sure Mason plays for another team.”

“No,” said Nash confidently, “I’m certain she’s a Falcon, seeing as I just healed her last week when I filled in for you – _oooh!_ ”

“Yes,” said Draco, turning onto his side. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m _seriously_ not dating any of the Falcons girls.”

She certainly seemed disappointed.

~o~

“Mrs. Capitelli never does that,” muttered Draco under his breath as they watched Olivia bend over backwards into what was apparently a wheel.

“Mrs. Capitelli is eighty,” Harry whispered back.

But he didn’t try to imitate Olivia either, even though _he_ wasn’t eighty yet by a long shot.

In fact, Harry didn’t even _pretend_ and had actually left his own mat a few minutes ago so he could continue their hushed conversation more easily.

“Eighty-one now.”

Draco took a look around the gym, watching as all the others tried their hand at Olivia’s pose. He would’ve felt worse about not even attempting it if they hadn’t been the only men there. That seemed to grant them some sort of free pass for slacking off.

“You could’ve told me that this is actually a sport.”

Harry grinned at him. “Do I look like I have done this before?”

“You did alright with that plank thing,” said Draco, whose own arms had given out after about a minute of keeping his torso off the ground.

He had an excuse though – he hadn’t gotten any sleep in between his night shift and Olivia’s early eight o’clock yoga class. Draco thought he should be given credit for that.

“Pretty sure I did that wrong,” said Harry. “I think you’re supposed to relax somewhere in between.”

Olivia’s eyes found them all the way at the back of her gym – the look she gave them wasn’t even a frown, only her usual smile – and Harry immediately lowered his voice mid-sentence.

Boy, she really had him whipped.

“Well, all these girls didn’t seem to mind,” muttered Draco back.

They were definitely looking over a lot, and Draco didn’t think it was just because they were new.

“Okay, now that we are warmed up,” Olivia looked into their direction again and Harry ducked his head and returned to his own mat hastily, “I’d like to do some partnered poses today.”

None of the women turned around, but Draco could still see how ten pairs of eyes latched onto the two of them in the mirror immediately. Only Lauren, who stood in the first row, wasn’t watching them but everybody else instead, grinning like a human shark.

Harry practically jumped onto Draco’s mat, nearly knocking him over.

He could practically feel the collectively held breath leave the room, making room for shared disappointment and two very amused grins on their friends’ faces.

“Okay, ladies.” The attention was back on Olivia without her so much as raising her voice. “Partner up, please.”

Lauren joined her at the front while the remaining women searched for partners. Mortified, Draco watched as the girls clasped hands and then leaned back into an almost sitting pose.

“She’s doing that on purpose, right?”

“Probably,” said Harry cheerfully, directing Draco into his proper place and then just grabbing both of his hands eagerly.

“Is she aware that this makes me want to never do this again?”

“She has her ways to get you to come back.”

Harry leaned back and Draco followed suit automatically, because the alternative would have been to be dragged forward and crash onto him.

His thighs started burning after just a few seconds. He really should have known better than let himself be tricked into working out. Especially next to a pro athlete.

Thankfully (and maybe because Olivia caught him groaning silently a few seconds later), the rest of her partnered poses weren’t as bad. Draco particularly liked the one where they sat on the floor cross-legged, leaning against each other’s backs and doing nothing apart from breathing.

Draco told Olivia as much when they were standing outside together half an hour later, and she beamed at him.

“He actually went to sleep,” said the traitorous prat called Harry Potter, grinning at him when Draco gave him a dark look.

“Not my fault that you had to drag me here the week I’m on nightshift.”

“Oh, _Draco_ ,” said Olivia heavily, throwing both arms around him and squeezing him lightly before kissing his cheek and letting go. “You didn’t have to do that for me. We’re not going to keep you any longer, see that you go home and get some rest.”

Draco’s stomach felt all warm and fuzzy, and he couldn’t help but smile at her softly and say, “It really was no bother at all. It was fun.”

And if Olivia ever asked him to come back, he knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“Give Aurelius a kiss from me!” said Harry with another big, dirty grin.

And then, when Draco tapped his forehead, he added, “Don’t forget to be at my place at quarter to three at the latest.”

~o~

Draco was nervous.

How could a literal _child_ make him this nervous? He dealt with children all the time, and they were usually injured. If he could manage _them_ , he could manage a single _healthy_ almost-eight-year-old, right?

Problem was, he wanted this child to like him.

Maybe it would have been easier if he could have made it to that party a few days ago, which had been held at the Burrow to celebrate the newest addition to the Weasley family – Percy and Audrey’s daughter Molly The Second. Or to any other family event with Harry’s godson present.

The focus wouldn’t have been on Draco, and there certainly wouldn’t have been any awkward silences. It was never silent at the Burrow.

Then again, they were taking Teddy to Quality Quidditch supplies – that wouldn’t exactly be quiet either, especially not on the day right before a league match (Tornadoes vs. Catapults).

But Harry _had_ promised Teddy to go flying afterwards, and that would be just the three of them.

When Draco entered Harry’s kitchen, the child was sitting at the kitchen island with Pigwidgeon and Kassandra perched on either side of him.

At the sound of his steps, the child turned around and Draco stopped dead in his tracks.

“What the _fuck_?”

Sitting in front of him was Harry Potter. His eyes were a brilliant green, his hair was sticking up in all directions and he was wearing a scarlet Weasley sweater with a golden H on the front.

He was also younger than Draco had ever seen him.

“Language, _honey._ ” Harry (who himself always swore like a Curse-Breaker, the hypocrite) appeared in the door to his pantry.

As they had never once in their lives called each other anything more endearing than their first names (if that) unironically, Draco took that to mean _‘Shut your filthy mouth, you wanker.’_

The child giggled and then said, “I already know that word.”

“See?” Draco said triumphantly. “I know how to talk to the youth.”

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest, though he was grinning. “I think your aunt Andromeda would disagree.”

“Don’t tell her, then.”

Draco extended his hand for the child to shake. “I’m Draco. And you must be Teddy, the famous Metamorphmagus.”

Teddy’s hand was suspiciously sticky. His mouth was already stuffed again – which only completed his portrayal of Harry – but he nodded enthusiastically, and his hair changed to blonde.

Draco whistled. “Very impressive!” He pointed at the golden H on Teddy’s sweater. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t ‘Teddy’ start with a T?”

“That’s my very first Weasley sweater,” said Harry. “I don’t exactly wear it anymore.”

Draco didn’t comment on the fact that an almost-eight-year-old fit into a sweater that Harry had been wearing when he was eleven. He didn’t want Teddy to think he was calling him stout – some children were awfully sensitive.

Harry scribbled something on a parchment he was holding and then offered it to Kassandra, who grabbed it in her talons and then turned her head toward Teddy, apparently awaiting some pancakes.

“Don’t!” shouted Draco, taking a step forward to wrench his tiny hand far away from her beak.

After Odysseus, he didn’t exactly trust Greyson’s owl around innocent humans.

But Teddy had already stretched out a hand, holding some pancake with jelly, and Kassandra took it incredibly gently.

And now Teddy was frowning at him. Great way to fuck this meeting up from the start.

_Why don’t you just yell at the child, Draco? – Why yes, what a grand idea!_

“Don’t worry, Kassandra knows how to behave herself.”

Grinning, Harry came over to give Draco a quick kiss and place a delicate necklace around his neck.

“Brand-new glamours. Hermione enchanted them herself.”

Draco glanced at the owl another time to make sure it really was behaving, and then went into the hallway to look in the mirror.

He wasn’t as pale anymore and his hair had turned a darker blond. His face looked slightly familiar and completely different at the same time.

When he re-entered the kitchen, Harry had already put his glamour on as well.

His skin was lighter now and his eyes weren’t as vivid, just a normal shade of green. But the real kicker was his hair – it was still black, but also short and completely straight. Draco just had to stick his hand into it.

It was weird – while it looked completely smooth, his fingers still got caught in the curls.

“What, like it better this way?” said Harry with both eyebrows raised.

“Nah. Your hair is a good warning signal to stay the f-” Draco hesitated as Harry jerked his head in Teddy’s direction. “– fudge away from you. Like when animals try to make themselves appear bigger.”

Teddy jumped from his bar stool, having finished his pancakes.

“Can we go now?”

“As soon as you’ve changed,” Harry said, handing Draco a paper bag full of sandwiches that he shrunk and stuffed into Harry’s sports bag.

Teddy scrunched up his nose. His skin lightened and his nose changed its form. His hair and eyes turned sky blue.

“Supporting the Tornados?” Draco asked.

“Yeah. They’re like the third best team!” Teddy said seriously.

“You tell him, Tedward,” said Harry, lifting Kassandra from the stool and carrying her over to the open window.

Teddy gave Draco a sceptical look, but then his face cleared and he launched into his list. “Okay, so the Falcons are the best, _obviously._ ”

“Obviously,” Draco agreed solemnly. “Did you see them play the Wasps last month?”

Teddy nodded intensely and then continued his ranking. “And the Harpies are second best, even though they’re all girls.”

“I know what you mean. Girls aren’t really my thing either.”

“That’s an understatement,” said Harry under his breath as Kassandra took flight.

“Right?” Teddy said, ignoring Harry and pointing at Draco with a syrupy finger. “And if Ron asks, I have to say that the Cannons are really good too. It’s not true, but I always get a Chocolate Snitch if I lie.”

Draco laughed. Any child against the Cannons and their horrible, horrible robes was a child to his liking.

“So, how many cards do you have?”

Teddy beamed at him. “I can show you later! I’ve got _a lot_. But I haven’t got a Harry yet.”

“I told you, I can get one for you,” Harry said, herding both of them into the hallway.

“It’s not the same!” Teddy cried, as if this conversation was nothing new. “I’m gonna get some more later.”

Draco, who had gotten a complete set of Chocolate Frog cards for his fifth birthday, had to agree.

Some things just had to be earned, even if he hadn’t thought so back then.

~o~

“Look, it’s Ody!”

Draco and Harry craned their necks, spotting the owl in the blood red evening sky just above the Falcons’ stadium.

Draco sighed and stopped walking. “Does that mean Greyson’s here as well? Maybe we should do this another time. Or elsewhere.”

After a year with him (and also the fourteen years before that), Draco was used to Harry crossing his arms and glaring at him.

It was an entirely different story to be subjected to the treatment by Harry Jr., who was stomping his foot for good measure as well.

“I want to fly here! It’s way less fun at the Burrow!”

Draco held up both hands in a placating gesture at the same time as Harry ruffled Teddy’s unruly black hair.

“Don’t worry, Tedward. These are Odysseus’ hunting grounds.” He pointed at the dark stadium. “If the floodlights are out, that means it’s empty. I don’t think my Coach is here.”

Teddy lit up immediately and dashed forward, coming to a stop when he reached the stadium, where practically bounced in excitement.

“I don’t think I’m doing that well,” muttered Draco as Harry pointed his wand at the back door leading inside the changing rooms and it sprang open.

Harry chuckled as Teddy ran inside ahead of them.

“Don’t worry. Teddy is easy to please. He tends to only remember the nice things people do for him. All he’s going to remember by tomorrow is that you bought him that Chocolate Snitch with Phaedra’s card.”

They were interrupted suddenly, when there was a _THUD_ and a startled shriek, and Harry set off immediately, his bag slamming against his hip as he dashed inside, wand drawn.

It was only Felicity McCarthy, dressed in her Quidditch gear and rubbing her knee. She was frowning down at Teddy, who was on his back and had apparently ran into her in the hallway just outside the changing room.

Her eyes snapped up when Harry and Draco thundered down the hallway, and she raised an eyebrow at the wand pointed at her.

“That yours?”

Harry made a rough noise and, apparently deciding that she hadn’t attacked Teddy, dropped his wand arm, though he didn’t stop glaring at her.

“My godson. It’s Saturday. What are you doing here?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Potter,” said Felicity in a sickeningly sweet voice, “But I’ve been training. Some of us actually care about their careers, you see?”

Harry glared at her and bent down to lift Teddy up, setting him down behind Draco and out of view for Felicity, who followed the movement and then seemed to realise that Draco was there.

“Draco! What brings _you_ here?”

Draco gave a small sigh and indicated Teddy with a nod. If she was the mole after all, he certainly didn’t want to give her any more ammunition.

He also didn’t want to _antagonise_ her – so far, she seemed to accept him. He couldn’t risk going the same way Flavio Valdez had.

“Potter thinks it’s a good idea to teach his godson some moves. And seeing as he’s also my cousin, I thought it best to tag along.”

“That’s probably smart,” she said pleasantly, giving Harry the side-eye. “Not much Black blood left, is there?”

“Unfortunately.”

She smirked. “Well, if Potter tries to teach him, it certainly can’t hurt to have a Healer at hand.”

Teddy, who had stepped out from behind Draco and was watching them with round eyes and his mouth ajar, took Harry’s hand.

“Don’t worry; nothing’s gonna happen,” Harry said, giving him a strained smile. Then he looked back up to glare at Felicity. “You were just leaving, right?”

Felicity smirked at him, but before she could give a reply, Teddy piped up suddenly. “Can I have an autograph?!”

And now she was grinning broadly, giving Harry a very smug look as she dropped down to one knee in front of Teddy.

“Sure, buddy! Where do you want it?”

Teddy was bouncing on his feet, letting go of Harry so he could plunge both hands into his pockets and rummage through them. He pulled out several candy wrappers along with a handful of Chocolate Snitch cards and then started to riffle through them while Felicity waited patiently.

“Don’t bother, Teddy,” said Harry, smiling at Felicity nastily. “Reserve players don’t get cards.”

“Oh,” said Teddy, deflating a little. “Right … um …”

The grin slipped off Harry’s face as Teddy looked up at him nervously.

He sighed and – looking like it pained him greatly – opened his bag to rummage through it. There was a second during which he froze, apparently thinking, and then he pulled out his Falcons robes and handed them to him.

“There you go. This one –” He glared in McCarthy’s direction, “– can sign on the back and then we’ll see if we can’t get the others’ autographs as well.”

Teddy looked like he might faint from pure glee, clutching the grey fabric to his chest for a second.

He beamed up at Harry and then, finally, held the robes out to Felicity, who gave him an open smile and signed her name in big, loopy letters, right across where Harry’s name was stitched to the back.

Harry didn’t even comment on the fact that Felicity apparently carried a quill inside the pocket of her robes, which really was an enormous testament to how much he loved Teddy.

Felicity ruffled Teddy’s hair, which turned colour to match her blonde locks immediately, and then got to her feet before Harry could snatch her hand away. She ignored his attempt in favour of smiling at Teddy.

“You have good taste, champ.” She winked at him. “Cool hair.”

Harry made an aborted noise that Felicity commented with a smug grin as she passed between them and strutted down the corridor and out into the night.

“Can you believe her?” muttered Harry as they stepped onto the pitch five minutes later and the lights went on all at once.

“Indeed,” said Draco, who was a little preoccupied with checking if Odysseus was still near. Satisfied when he didn’t find him anywhere, Draco added. “The nerve of her.”

He didn’t mention that he was secretly very impressed with Felicity.

It had been fun watching her, Pure-Blood Slytherin that she was, put Harry in his place. Provided she wasn’t selling him out to get him off the team, of course.

Harry jabbed him in the side, “Wow, that was _almost_ believable. Thanks for the support!”

Draco pushed his hand away and handed him his shrunken broom with a wink. “Anytime, _honey_.”

It was even more fun watching Harry try his hardest not to smile at the sight of his green-eyed, blond, curly-haired godson, zipping by on his new training broom while dressed in Harry’s now shrunken Falcons robes with Felicity’s autograph on them.


	64. Nothing Personal [Wednesday, March 22nd 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much: Thyholyadashi, Domeneeka, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Justforthedead, filidoune, Zezily, SimplySomeone, Fandomwarriorqueen, WildvanillaRose, WildvanillaRose, hitomu, Slytherinz_Ghost, kylorrren, windowcracks, AlluraBelle, illindalenti, Fan, ThatBoringOne, hush_over_the_night, SHkatty. 😊
> 
> I really appreciate you appreciating this story! It’s honestly what I live for right now! 😅 Also, I didn’t even know I loved Teddy until I wrote him. 🤭
> 
> So … Are you ready for more fluff?! 🤗
> 
> Title: Night Riots – Nothing Personal

There were few things that Draco could sleep through, and somebody trying to break down his front door certainly didn’t number among them.

The sudden banging and subsequent barking startled him so much that he jerked upwards and nearly fell out of bed. Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him back just in time. He was already holding his wand, like he hadn’t just been startled awake as well.

Harry was on his feet before Draco could even begin to get his bearings. He threw him his wand (it missed Draco by a good two feet) and raised a finger to his lips. Then he pointed at Draco and the bed, signalling that Draco was to wait there.

Draco grabbed his wand and scrambled after him, finally catching up at the top of the stairs.

“Maybe it’s a neighbour,” Draco whispered, even though Aurelius and the person outside were making enough noise to easily cover their voices.

“That’s no Muggle,” Harry whispered back even more quietly. “They would have remembered they left the stove on before they even got to the door.”

“Fine, not a Muggle then,” Draco hissed. “It’s my house, so I get to be murdered first.”

Harry glared at him in a way that made Draco think he was seriously considering a Body-Bind. “Over my dead body.”

“That would kind of defeat the point.” Draco summoned Harry’s Invisibility Cloak from downstairs and handed it to him with a stern look. “Nobody knows you’re here. You’ve got the element of surprise.”

“ _Fine!_ ”

Harry vanished.

They made towards the shaking front door together. Harry stopped on the last stair and Draco crossed the next few steps alone, not counting Aurelius, who was at his side immediately.

“ _Draco!_ ” somebody yelled. “Open up! I know you’re in there!”

“It’s Sam!” Harry whispered, sounding only a little relieved.

What the hell was _she_ doing here?

Draco grabbed Aurelius’ collar and then yanked the door open. He was nearly punched in the face by Samantha, who still had her fist raised to pound at his door again.

“Finally!”

She pushed her way inside impatiently and Draco realised that she was only wearing a dressing gown.

He waved at Mrs. Capitelli, who stood in front of her front door, to show that everything was fine and there was no need to call Muggle law enforcement.

Then he closed the door in a hurry, creating a considerable draft that washed over his bare skin and reminded him that he was only wearing his pants and nothing else.

Letting go off Aurelius, he hastily crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned to look at Samantha, who was peeking into his kitchen as if she was looking for something.

He was just about to ask her what all this was about, when she began to yell again. “Harry! You come here this instant!”

Draco dropped his wand and just managed to catch it before it hit the ground.

“Wha- why would Potter be _here_? Samantha, it’s seven in the morning!”

She fixed him with a very stern look that reminded him oddly of McGonagall. “Cut the crap, Draco.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

She pointed at him in accusation. “I know he’s there. It’s a million degrees in here.”

Draco kept a straight face and said stiffly. “I got cold.”

Maybe not the best alibi while only wearing underwear, but there it was.

“That’s his jacket right there,” she said, pointing at it hanging on a hook at the wall.

“He forgot it last time he was here,” Draco said immediately.

No point denying it was Harry’s – Samantha did his shopping, after all.

“ _Harry_ forgot his jacket? Don’t tell me he was warm. Also, those are his shoes as well.”

She was right. There they were – a pair of grey sneakers standing in a neat little row right beside Draco’s blue ones.

Had it been possible to cross his arms harder, Draco would have done it.

“He Disapparated from inside. I have Muggle neighbours. It was very considerate.”

Her eyes narrowed and then she raised a newspaper Draco hadn’t even realised she was holding.

“And _this_?”

This time he dropped his wand for real, sending a handful of sparks in all directions.

The headline read _‘The Chosen One’s Chosen One’_.

The picture underneath showed them on their Valentine’s Day date. They were walking down the dimly lit street, holding hands. Then Harry stopped directly underneath the street lamp (destroying all hopes that maybe they could deny it was even them) and turned Draco around by the hand, bringing them face to face. To top it all off, Draco stepped closer and put his hand into Harry’s hair (the real Draco groaned). They weren’t even kissing – who _did_ that in public? – but it was still pretty clear what was going on.

Harry’s rushed footsteps were clearly audible in the silence that followed. Two hands appeared out of nowhere and snatched the Prophet out of her grasp.

Samantha wasn’t amused. “Oh, so _now_ you’re here?”

“Fuck,” Harry whispered.

“No kidding!”

The Prophet opened in mid-air as he riffled through it. Some of the pages sailed to the floor, but Harry didn’t seem to care.

There were a whole ten pages dedicated to them. Somebody had gone to great lengths to ensure that the Wizarding world was fully informed.

There was a timeline of everything known about the two of them (starting at their first year at Hogwarts) and also photographs of every occasion they had been at the same event, including the Muggle party, Draco’s first match as the Falcons’ Healer, that disastrous Hogwarts match during which little Greyson had gotten her face smashed and also Harry’s speech at the Lightning Blast event.

“How did they find out?” Harry said more to himself.

Samantha crossed both arms in front of her chest. “No, the real question is: Why am _I_ only finding out now?”

“Er…” Harry seemed to think for a few seconds, holding the Prophet completely still.

“And take that off when I’m talking to you!” Samantha snapped.

She grabbed at where his arm was cut off in mid-air and yanked away the Cloak, revealing Harry in just his pants.

Well, now that Draco really looked at it, they were Draco’s pants. He glimpsed down and realised he was wearing Harry’s.

He wondered if Samantha did Harry’s pants-shopping as well.

“Merlin’s beard,” Samantha muttered, a long-suffering expression on her face. “Please get dressed, both of you. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.”

It only took them a minute to get dressed and they didn’t talk doing it.

Draco wondered what Harry was planning. He didn’t think that Harry would try to deny it all, but there was just no telling for sure. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted him to do.

Sneaking around hadn’t always been fun, but somehow Draco doubted it would get easier now.

He wondered what his parents were doing right now and if they had burned his birth certificate yet.

Harry broke the silence when they were on their way back downstairs. “Think it was Cortez or her affair?”

Draco frowned. “Can’t be. They only found out after those pictures were taken. Besides, both of them could get fired if their relationship comes to light. And her husband heads the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. I doubt she wants to divorce him.”

Harry just grunted, clearly disgusted. He’d probably rather drink bubotuber pus than betray somebody’s trust like that.

Draco was struck by the sudden awareness that Harry was way too good for him. Well, now that their secret was out, people were bound to remind him of that on a regular basis.

It seemed that they were already getting started on that. There were no less than five owls perched outside his living room window and Draco spotted at least two Howlers.

Well, at least they were in the garden, which was hidden from the Muggles’ view.

Samantha was sitting on the counter top, glaring out the window, arms and legs crossed. She definitely seemed mad.

“I’m your whole PR team, Harry!” she said as soon as they stepped a foot into the kitchen. “It’s my job to know everything about you! How am I supposed to issue a statement in your name if I don’t know how you want to play this? Because you kept me in the dark?! I thought we had an agreement after the last time!”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Harry said resolutely, ignoring the accusation completely. “I’ll handle this.”

Harry fixed Draco with a grim look that clearly said it was time to shrink some heads again. “Shall we?”

Draco returned his look just as determinedly.

He knew that, as a former Death Eater, he had to act extra carefully at all times. But even his self-restraint had its limits and he drew the line when it came to meddling in his personal affairs.

“Let’s.”

“Not _again!_ ” Samantha pleaded uselessly as she followed the two of them into the hallway. “Don’t be a hot potato, Harry!”

“Can’t help it!” Harry handed Draco his cloak and then threw on his own jacket while adding, “I’ve got bridges to burn.”

Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and put it into his inside pocket. He clearly didn’t care who would see him. This wasn’t about getting the drop on someone – it was about sending a message.

“I want a raise!” Samantha yelled, looking on the verge of a break-down. “Ten percent at least!”

“Let’s make it fifteen,” said Harry with a sharp nod. “Haven’t decided what I’m gonna do to him yet! Oh, and tell Matt I won’t be at practice today, will you?”

The air felt static. Harry shot him a questioning look and Draco nodded sharply. He was ready.

Samantha groaned as Harry grabbed his upper arm and turned abruptly.

~o~

They appeared at one of the Diagon Alley Apparition spots, the one closest to the Prophet headquarters.

People turned around at the sharp CRACK their arrival made, courtesy of Harry’s overeager magic. He was usually the most silent Apparater there was, but all finesse went out the window when he was angry.

The bystanders seemed to notice it as well – they backed away in a hurry as Harry strode forward determinedly, without even taking a second to find his bearings.

One witch was so desperate to get out of the way that she stumbled into the wizard beside her and knocked him against a wall. He didn’t even seem to mind, as his whole attention was fixed on the two of them.

Draco supposed they did make an impressive pair – two (in)famous wizard, clearly out for blood, Harry’s magic creating a strong static in the air and Draco’s heavy cloak billowing out behind him as they closed in on their mark.

It felt like a scene from the movies, the ones where everything moved much slower for some reason. The only thing missing was an explosion the two of them could walk away from.

Also, people knew they were doing it now, which _may_ have factored into their interest.

The receptionist saw them coming through the glass door. She stared at them for a good two seconds, probably immobilised, and then knocked over her chair as she jumped to her feet and made a run for it.

The door shattered as Harry pushed it open. Several people from adjoining offices let out startled shrieks and Draco put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Remember that we need him alive.”

One of the reporters stuck her head out of her door to find the source of the noise. When she saw them, she slammed her door shut. Several clicks indicated that she was locking it heavily.

Draco wasn’t so sure all those spells would do much if Harry were after her. He had murder in his eyes and seemed about ready to bring down the whole building if necessary.

“No promises,” he said sharply, but he didn’t push Draco’s hand away. “His office is on the top floor.”

Draco pointed his wand at the lift and said “ _Retentio!_ ”, which was the spell St. Mungo’s used to prevent mentally ill patients from escaping their wards.

A purple memo slid through the crack underneath one of the shut doors and sailed towards the staircase, but Harry caught it easily. Draco shot three more of them out of the air with his wand.

He wasn’t in the mood to search for a runaway editor today.

They were startled by a flash and turned towards the ruined door. People were gathering outside the building and taking pictures. One witch dropped her camera as Harry glared at her and then vanished in the crowd hastily.

“Come on,” he said roughly. Then he grabbed Draco’s right wrist and pulled him towards the stairs.

They found Barnabas Cuffe in front of the lift, pushing the button hastily and muttering under his breath.

When he saw them, he dropped the stack of newspapers he was holding. He plunged one hand inside his coat pocket and produced a plume hat, which he put on in a hurry.

“You’re not allowed in here!” Cuffe was clearly trying to sound resolute, but his voice broke several times.

“I warned you,” Harry pressed out. “I told you to stay away from my private life.”

“Stay back!” Cuffe demanded. “I’ve got a shield hat!”

Draco scoffed. “Believe me, he’s not limited to shrinking your head. Tell me, Cuffe, are you wearing shield pants as well?”

Cuffe turned pale.

Harry smirked at Draco over his shoulder. “Great idea.”

“No, please,” Cuffe stammered. “If I hadn’t published it, somebody else would have!”

“Guess we could be standing outside somebody else’s office right now,” Harry said. He pointed his wand at Cuffe’s privates. “Shame.”

“No, please!”

“Enough talk!” Harry said.

It was clear that this was already taking way too long for his taste. He gripped his wand even tighter and sparks fizzled out of the end.

Cuffe trembled and dropped his wand to shield his nether region, which was just plain dumb. Harry summoned it immediately and put it into his back pocket.

Draco put his hand on Harry’s upper arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Watch this.”

Harry lowered his wand just a few inches. Cuffe looked close to tears.

“Mr. Cuffe,” Draco said calmly. “We would really like to know the name of your informant.”

Cuffe shook his head. Harry’s wand rose again.

Draco sighed theatrically. “Just tell us the name so Harry won’t have to hex you.”

“I can’t!”

“Of course you can. I really wouldn’t want Harry to shrink your tiny prick, but what I would like even less would be if Harry shrunk your bladder. They straight up explode if you try to re-inflate them with a spell.”

Draco grimaced, as if to say that he wouldn’t recommend it.

“It can only be done over a period of three months, by drinking an elixir of frogs’ eyes and bull urine. Tastes really nasty, I have been told ... Also, how do you feel about wearing a nappy?”

Cuffe looked like he could use that right about now.

Harry inclined his head as if he was considering the idea.

“You know, that’s _exactly_ what I had in mind. What a coincidence! You’re a mind-reader, Draco.”

They exchanged a look, then Harry’s eyes were on his target again. “Well, Cuffe, what will it be?”

“I don’t have a name,” Cuffe stammered. “He always wears a mask!”

“How does he contact you?” Draco said.

His hand on Harry’s arm tightened slightly, creating the image that Draco was the only thing holding him back right now. Well, maybe he was.

“He fire-calls; I never know when. He names the price and I throw the gold into the fire. Then he tells me his information.”

“Like what?” Harry demanded coldly.

The muscles in his arms twitched dangerously and Draco wasn’t sure if he could hold him back for real if it came to that.

“All kinds of things,” Cuffe whined. “Please, let me go! I told you everything I know!”

“We’ll be needing everything he told you,” Draco said.

“I didn’t write it down!”

“Oh boy,” Draco said with a sigh, his hand dropping from Harry’s arm. He didn’t have to be a Legilimens to determine that Cuffe was lying.

Draco crossed his arms lazily and leaned back against the wall as Harry put away his wand and crossed the last few steps. There was a sickening crunch as Harry’s fist obliterated the shield and hit Cuffe square in the face.

The editor in chief landed on his back, both hands pressed against his nose and mouth.

Harry looked down at him, the left fist balled, the right hand clenched unnaturally, and Draco pushed himself off the wall and leaned over Cuffe to look him in the eyes.

“Where is it?” he simply said.

Cuffe glared up at him and stayed silent, but Draco didn’t care. He didn’t need Cuffe to say it, only to think about it. His eyes would tell the truth, even if they were shining with tears.

An image flashed through Draco’s mind and only now did he take out his wand again. He hadn’t needed it as long as Harry was armed, but now he pointed it at Cuffe, who braced for something nasty.

“There’s a grey briefcase underneath his desk,” Draco told Harry, keeping his eyes on Cuffe, who let out a high-pitched squeal.

Harry went into Cuffe’s office and came back with the briefcase clamped under his left arm. Draco took a look at it to confirm it was the right one.

“Too bad we don’t know the code to unlock it,” Harry said pointedly while Draco fixed Cuffe’s eyes again.

The moron was too afraid to even look away.

“Done,” said Draco and Harry gave him a wicked grin that seemed to set his whole body aflame.

Draco raised his wand a tad, pointing it at Cuffe’s face, who whimpered pathetically.

“Well, Mr. Cuffe, I am terribly sorry to have bothered you,” he said almost incidentally, as Cuffe’s nose snapped back into shape and his burst lip healed. “I did try to hold him back, you see.”

Cuffe touched his nose with careful fingers.

“But you know how it is with him. He’s Harry Potter. Did you hear what happened the last time somebody publicly angered him? She was shunned by society. Had to leave the country. Tragic.”

She had also tried to enslave Harry and murder Draco, but Cuffe didn’t need to know that.

“Heard her business went belly-up,” added Harry boldly and Draco nodded along.

“I would suggest that you do not talk about this nice little chat you and the Saviour of the Wizarding world just had,” Draco continued, vanishing the blood that had trickled onto Cuffe’s collar. “I doubt people would be able to understand your point of view, you see? Everybody knows Harry Potter wouldn’t just attack innocent people.”

Cuffe nodded silently, but he seemed to have lost his voice.

“Alright, Mr. Cuffe.” Draco flicked his wand at the lift, unfreezing it. “It was nice meeting you.”

Harry glared at Cuffe one last time before stepping into the lift. “Let’s hope we don’t have to meet again.”

Draco waited until the doors were fully closed before taking Harry’s right hand in his own carefully.

“Well, that’s completely shattered,” he said drily. “Colour me impressed.”

“My mistake,” Harry grumbled. “I thought that hat was a Wheezes knockoff, not the real deal. Must be a new design. _Fuck_ , that hurts.”

Draco tapped his wand against the injured hand as lightly as possible, but Harry still inhaled sharply as several of his bones mended at once.

He tested his hand by grabbing Draco’s neck and pulling him in for a heated kiss that only lasted a second. Harry was out of breath by the end of it, probably because breaking through a magic shield by hand must have been pretty draining.

But if he was exhausted, he didn’t show it. He just shrunk the briefcase and put it into his pocket.

The foyer was completely deserted when they exited the lift. The street seemed to be empty too, but only at first glance.

Then there was the flash of a camera again and it became clear that a handful of people had opted for Disillusionment Charms instead of getting the hell out of there.

Draco raised his eyebrows in their direction and one of them broke free from the brick wall she was pressed against and Disapparated.

Harry tossed Cuffe’s wand in the general direction of the front desk and then joined Draco at the heap of glass that had once been the front door.

“Allow me,” Draco said silently, because Harry didn’t really seem up for Apparating the both of them to three different locations in quick succession.

Harry gave him a grateful smile and muttered, “After you.”

They only took one step outside. Then Harry grabbed his hand and they were off.

~o~

There was a whole stack of letters on the counter and Kassandra the owl was staring at them, which Harry just ignored.

Draco wasn’t really interested to hear what Greyson had to say about him missing practice either. The Falcons were playing Puddlemere on Sunday, so he could imagine.

“I _really_ would have liked to hex him,” Harry grumbled as he slapped the briefcase onto his kitchen counter.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have broken your wand hand,” Draco said as he sat down on one of the bar stools and inspected the combination lock.

“But it was really satisfying.” Harry sighed deeply. “I suppose _you_ wouldn’t know. _You_ ’ve probably never been in a fistfight.”

“You seem to be forgetting that you assaulted me on _at least_ one occasion!” Draco said with a stern look.

He definitely remembered Harry getting banned from playing Quidditch in their fifth year because of it.

“That doesn’t count; you were completely helpless. I can’t even remember if you fought back at all.”

Harry didn’t seem too keen on getting into the reason for their fight, which was probably a good thing. They were both in agreement that Draco had been a massive prick.

“Are you implying that I’m a wimp?” Draco said absent-mindedly while entering the combination he had seen in Cuffe’s mind.

The briefcase opened with a snap. And it was filled to the brim with scrolls of parchment and photographs.

Harry was speechless for a moment, scanning the contents with his eyes.

“No, you’re a _genius_ ,” he finally said, but it sounded flat – like he couldn’t decide whether he was elated about their loot or horrified by the existence of it.

Draco picked a parchment at random and turned it over in his hands. Scribbled at the top was a rather obscene amount of gold – probably the price that had been demanded for the information.

“I should quit my job and just feed the Prophet information from now on,” Draco said drily. “Seems to be pretty profitable.”

“Don’t even joke about it,” Harry said glumly.

He seemed upset, so Draco decided to keep his remarks to himself and unrolled the parchment instead. The writing was neat and even, typical for a Quick-Quotes Quill.

“ _‘Potter never took Apparition test; doesn’t have a license. Publish on April 2 nd 2006’_,” Draco read. “That’s not for another month. What’s on April 2nd?”

Harry snatched the parchment out of his hands and read it himself. He was tense and shaking, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I never told anyone.”

“I knew,” Draco said carefully. “You definitely told me.”

He didn’t know why he said it. He didn’t want Harry to suspect him, but not saying it would have felt like covering it up, and that certainly would have raised suspicion if Harry remembered later.

“I never told anybody I don’t trust,” Harry specified in a very tense voice.

To say that Draco felt relieved would have been an understatement. He was elated. Ecstatic. Inappropriately happy considering the circumstances, but there it was.

Harry didn’t think it was Draco who was selling him out. Harry did trust him.

Draco could have cried. He didn’t, of course. Malfoys didn’t cry (as long as they didn’t accidentally kill twenty-something year-old Gryffindors).

He couldn’t focus on that, though. Right now, they were trying to solve Harry’s problem. Who could have found out about Harry’s lack of licence? And How?

“Maybe somebody overheard you?”

“Like with the thing about my birthday, you mean? Let’s find out.”

Harry grabbed the briefcase and rushed upstairs, taking two steps at once.

The snake ladder was already fully formed when Draco caught up with him. They climbed it and approached the Pensieve, which came to life immediately.

Draco watched their past selves Apparate into Harry’s kitchen after that disastrous dinner at the Granger-Weasleys’, which had turned into a much less disastrous snogging session and also an epiphany at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. They definitely looked a little dusty.

“That’s cute,” Pensieve-Harry said. “You think I have a license.”

“The window was open,” present Draco said, pointing at it. “Maybe somebody on the street heard us?”

Was now the time to tell him that McCarthy lived just around the corner from Grimmauld Place?

But that would only confirm Harry’s suspicions, and Draco didn’t really want to do that, because Harry had a habit of latching on to Slytherins. If Draco mentioned the fact, he doubted that Harry would be able to consider any other possibility, and they couldn’t afford that.

Harry shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. At least not any random passer-by. Maybe if they could at least see the house …”

“Well, the informant didn’t seem to have any of the information after you closed the window, so they can’t have been inside. We clearly talked about kissing; I doubt they would wait a year to publish that.”

Silver linings, right? No home invaders?

“Maybe they found out somewhere else,” Harry said. “Maybe somebody at the Ministry checked the records or something.”

“Maybe ...”

What if there _were_ ways to hear what people inside a hidden house said? Or maybe it _was_ somebody who could see the house?

Samantha came to mind, but Draco pushed the thought aside immediately. Harry wouldn’t consider it anyway. And she _had_ seemed surprised about today’s Prophet. Besides, what would be in it for her? Apart from the money, that was?

“Let’s check the rest.” Harry chose another scroll and read it out loud. “ _‘Potter injured Felicity McCarthy during practice match. McCarthy at St. Mungo’s with concussion and broken ribs. Three Photographs. Publish immediately.’_ ”

Harry balled the parchment up and threw it back into the briefcase.

“My money is on McCarthy,” he said snidely, arriving there after all. “That article definitely made me look like the bad guy. Maybe she used a Pensieve and took some photos of her memory; I don’t know.”

“How would she find out about your lack of a license?” If she hadn’t somehow managed to eavesdrop at the window.

“She’s a Slytherin; what do I know?”

There it was.

“You think she has contacts at the Ministry?”

Draco supposed it could be possible. Theoretically. The McCarthys were probably calculating enough and could be very charming if they wanted.

There was just one problem ...

“Cuffe said the informant was male.”

Harry breathed out heavily. “Maybe she sent her brother to do the dirty work.”

“Wouldn’t Cuffe recognise his voice right away? He flies for the Tornados.”

“Fine, maybe she used Polyjuice Potion.” Harry glared down at the Pensieve, which showed him and McCarthy lying next to each other on the ground.

“But she had a concussion. I think she even stayed for the night. And that article got published the next morning.”

Harry sighed impatiently. “Then maybe her brother took the Potion and tipped him off.”

Draco tried not to say it like an accusation, but he wasn’t exactly sure that he managed it. “Or maybe you just want it to be them?”

“Because they are out to get me! Remember that friendly against the Tornados? With the Lightning Blast?”

“You mean the one you died at?” Draco said pointedly.

“Yeah. Remember how he had it out for me then? They hate me.”

“Think about it,” said Draco heavily. “We met Felicity just this Saturday. Did it seem to you like she knew about us then? And she was really nice to Teddy.”

Now Harry was glaring at him instead of the Pensieve. “She’s a Slytherin. What do I know what she’s able to hide?”

Wow. Great. Exactly what Draco wanted to hear while Harry was searching for the person who was selling him out.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you going to suspect Blaise next? Are you sure you don’t want to suspect me?”

Harry was gripping the Pensieve so hard that Draco wouldn’t have been surprised to see him leave imprints.

“Fuck off, Draco. I already told you I don’t. And you know that’s not how I meant it.”

Draco sighed, feeling incredibly tired. “Let’s see what else there is.”

Reluctant to choose one, Draco rummaged through the bunch, waiting for something to catch his eye.

There was a slightly different note at the bottom. The parchment was of higher quality and the ink a bright red. The sum at the top must have been a joke, because it was just insanely high. Not just buy-a-racing-broom high. More like take-six-months-off-work high.

Had Cuffe really paid that much? More importantly – what was in there? Had the Prophet already published it or was this an Erumpent waiting to explode?

Draco unrolled the parchment and read out loud.

“ _‘Potter’s girlfriend, Grace Taylor (Muggle), lives near Bedford Square.’_ ”

“WHAT?!”

Harry snatched the parchment out of his hands, tearing it in the middle. He didn’t seem to care – his eyes were flitting over the paper several times, as if he couldn’t believe what it said.

“If I ever find who did this,” he growled, “I’ll tear them apart with my bare hands, I swear.”

Draco had no trouble believing it. Harry looked like he wanted to set fire to the whole briefcase and then cast a Reparo and do it again.

“There was a photo inside,” said Draco, frowning down at it.

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be seeing. Harry was in it, shopping bags in one hand and the other stretched out in front of him. But he was alone, so what had that to do with his girlfriend?

Harry took the photo and glared at it. He was doing a lot of glaring lately.

The air felt hot and static all of a sudden and Draco fought hard not to take a step back and further away from Harry. Harry needed his support right now. And besides – Draco had the necklace. He was safe.

“She was there with me,” said Harry in an unhappy voice. “She was erased from all pictures when we Obliviated her.”

“Can’t have been McCarthy then …,” said Draco tentatively. “You said she can’t have known about your girlfriend, and whoever told the Prophet about that also seems to be responsible for all the other information. Cuffe said nothing about a second source.”

“What do I know? This was obviously Muggle London. Anybody could have seen us there, if we’re being honest.”

“But McCarthy? She is a Pure-Blood.”

“You’re Pure-Blood,” said Harry pointedly. “You’re in Muggle London often enough.”

“Only because I’m with _you_.”

“Yeah, well, who knows who _she_ was with back then?” Harry shot back. “All I’m saying is that it’s possible.”

“All _I_ am saying is that it’s unlikely!”

“There’s no instruction for publishing,” muttered Harry, abandoning the argument and turning the parchment over instead. “Or maybe Cuffe didn’t bother writing it down.”

“There’s another one like that ...,” said Draco after several seconds, pointing it out. He had a pretty good idea about what it might say.

Harry stared at it like it might bite. Draco turned it around so they could see the price and his heart missed a beat.

“Four _thousand_ Galleons?!”

Draco snatched it up and unrolled it in a haste.

_‘Potter dating Draco Malfoy. Publish Wednesday, March 22 nd. Photo to stay confidential under all circumstances.’_

The photograph showed him and Harry in the Falcons’ changing rooms. Harry was completely wet and only wearing his thermo pants. Draco was in his Falcons scrubs, kneeling on the floor in front of Harry, a hand braced against his shoulder to keep him upright. Draco said something and Harry laughed and then grimaced immediately afterwards. He leaned down to kiss Draco, who met him halfway. Then the cycle started anew.

The words _‘Not for publishing’_ were scribbled across the picture in bright red ink and big, loopy letters, making it unusable for Cuffe.

Draco handed it to Harry wordlessly.

“Why didn’t they use this photo?” Harry asked in a horribly hollow voice, watching it for the third time. “That’s actually worse than the one they published.”

Draco shook his head, more to clear his head than to make a statement.

“Maybe they think it could be traced back to them? If we knew when this was taken, we could try to find out who had access to the changing rooms at the time.”

Harry looked back at the Pensieve, which showed the scene in an instant. He made it play backwards with a wave of his hand until it reached the point where Harry, completely drenched and shivering, broke out of a storm cloud and landed next to Draco and Dayal in his black-and-yellow scrubs.

Harry didn’t watch the rest but thundered downstairs.

He came back a few seconds later, a single Snitch orbiting his head like it was a tiny golden planet and he was its sun. Harry snatched it out of the air and read the inscription that appeared on its surface.

_“February 12 th 2006\. Falmouth Falcons vs. Wimbourne Wasps. 290 – 60.”_

“So ...,” said Draco slowly. “Whoever took the photo was at that match. That’s not _that_ helpful, is it? It could have been anyone, really – members of both teams, reserve players, coaches, Healers, relatives, maybe even somebody working for the Quidditch League.”

“Do you think they’re the one who took those pictures on Valentine’s as well?”

“I don’t know,” said Draco reluctantly. “Could be that Cuffe just sent someone to follow us as soon as he got the tip-off, right?”

The suggestion seemed to piss Harry off slightly. “You think I wouldn’t have noticed somebody following us?”

Draco took the photo from him and waved it around in front of his face. “Did you notice someone taking this? I would say it’s _possible_.”

Harry snatched the photo back and dropped it into the briefcase. “Keep going?”

Draco sighed. “I suppose.”

There were a lot of notes in the briefcase and it took them three hours to get through them all. Not that it did any good.

Most of the tips weren’t distinguishable enough to be a lead. There were things in there like _‘Potter’s favourite dessert is treacle tart’_. They couldn’t exactly search the Pensieve for every single instance when he had mentioned treacle tart or eaten it.

Then there was a note describing all of his scars and their placements in detail, which had them hypothesising that the informant was somebody who saw Harry at least semi-naked on a regular basis. Which would probably mean somebody on his team or at Mungo’s.

But in the end, Draco argued that the informant could just as well have come to know about his scars through other means – like that rumour about Harry only wearing red pants, which seemed to have spread from team to team and had since become common ‘knowledge’.

Sighing, Draco dropped the last note _(‘Potter never properly learned how to swim’_ ) back into the briefcase.

“We should probably get Hermione in on this.”

Harry shook his head immediately. Draco’s eyebrows rose to heights he wouldn’t have thought possible before.

“Harry, Hermione’s brain is worth at least three ordinary ones. And Ron is an actual Auror. Things like this are his job.”

“They’re both still on parental leave.”

“Which means they’ll have plenty of time! When Hermione helped with my inquiry, you told me she wanted to do it!”

“Yeah,” said Harry slowly. He stuffed the Snitch into his pocket in a thinly veiled attempt at distracting from the topic. “But that was about your career.”

“What you mean is that it wasn’t about _you_ then. You don’t like asking for help if it is for yourself.”

“They’ve had to deal with enough crazy shit from my end for seven years. Their lives are normal now. I can’t ruin that again.”

“Alright,” said Draco, even though it took him a lot of effort. “Let’s take this to the Aurors then. Somebody is obviously spying on you and making a mint selling your private life.”

“Sure,” said Harry sarcastically. “We know practically nothing about this spy, but let’s hand over all our evidence to strangers in the Ministry, who might or might not be in cahoots with them.”

“When you got poisoned on New Year’s Eve and there was an Auror on the suspect list, you said that you trust them because Ron does. What happened to that?”

Harry was getting louder now. “Gee, I don’t know, Draco! You might remember that I also trusted Cho not to stab you!”

“She didn’t!” Draco threw his hands up in frustration.

“That’s not the important part, though! I let my guard down and you almost died!”

“Harry, that wasn’t your fault! That was a mixture of madness and me foolishly underestimating a witch.”

“I don’t want to involve anybody right now. Don’t you dare do it behind my back!” Harry slammed the briefcase shut and slid it into a dark corner with a kick of his foot. 

“Fine,” said Draco coldly. He turned around and left the attic without so much as a look back.

Why did Harry have to be so self-sacrificing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realise now this might not actually have been fluff? My bad. It was kinda hard to tell from here. 😏


	65. Divided We Fall [Sunday, March 26th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s special thanks go to: windowcracks, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Fan, Justforthedead, Zezily, linellin, hitomu, WildvanillaRose, SimplySomeone, SimplySomeone, Xsheepyx89, chinykawaii, Grace Kudla, Superfan1224, Gallavich_endgame_2934, Slytherinz_Ghost, Eddie, Fandomwarriorqueen, illindalenti, burninglikeacid, Bookmysterr, filidoune, SHkatty, hush_over_the_night and ThatBoringOne! 😘
> 
> So, the last chapter existed pretty early on, since I didn’t write this story completely chronologically. I am so glad you liked it, because I’ve been looking forward to that one _forever_ and it’s one of my favourites! 🤗
> 
> Also, I’m afraid I have resting smug face now. 😏
> 
> BTW: I actually wrote half of this chapter just today. 😅 Sometimes your comments make me realise there could be something missing that really should be explored (or that there should be more of something) and then I just add to it.
> 
> Which is why all my ideas for other fics sit and wait while this fic is now actually 35,000 words longer than it was when I thought it was finished and started posting.
> 
> So, again, thank you so, so much for commenting! 🙌🏻

Harry had given Samantha a fifteen percent raise and she had graciously offered to handle Draco’s post too, from now on.

Draco was glad, because it had taken him ten minutes until he had finally found Aurelius cowering under the bed when he had come home on Wednesday evening.

Putting together what had happened wasn’t all that hard.

Thanks to Harry’s wards on Draco’s house, strange owls weren’t able to enter his house anymore, meaning they had to drop their letters at the back door leading from his living room into the garden.

Looking at the amount of ashes in front of the door, Draco guessed that there must have been a pretty big pile of letters and at least one Howler, which had set fire to all of it when it had gone up in flames.

Draco wasn’t exactly disappointed that he had not gotten a chance to read any of the letters. The sticky mass underneath the ashes had told him there hadn’t just been harsh words inside the envelopes.

There had been one perfectly intact letter on his kitchen counter, though, and it had been from Chief Cortez.

Cortez, in her infinite kindness (and unmeasurable fear of Draco outing her secret), had given Draco the rest of the week off with full payment. As there had also been mention of barricaded front doors, a swarm of paparazzi in front of it and patients roaming the floors looking for him, Draco hadn’t exactly hesitated before just taking it.

Which was why Sunday was the first time that Draco came into contact with the outside world since their little rampage, and it took place in a Quidditch stadium.

Harry and Draco were almost two hours early (though on purpose) and therefore the first ones in the changing room.

Even though Harry claimed that the Falcons had seemed cool with all of it when he had seen them at practice on Thursday and Friday, he seemed nervous now. He kept pacing the room and glancing at the door while Draco sorted through his portable apothecary and tried to ignore him.

Of course Draco couldn’t know it for sure, but when the rest of the team joined them all at once half an hour later, he rather suspected that they had met up outside before coming in. Whatever that meant.

Draco had a second to panic – he hadn’t decided on what he wanted to say yet! – and then Robinson looked from Harry to Draco with a big, dirty grin on her face and slapped Draco on the shoulder.

“Have you really thought this through, Draco?” she said, shaking him a little and then letting go. “I’m sure it’s not too late to ditch Harry and pretend it was all just an early April Fools’ joke.”

“Leo!” said Harry with a groan.

“Just saying!”

“She’s right, though,” said Easton Haynes as he pulled his shirt over his head in one swift move that revealed his very bulky chest.

It was fine. Draco was used to it by now. Besides, Haynes wasn’t really his type. He looked like he could crush Draco easily. Admittedly, so could Harry, but not by simply sitting down on top of him. Draco liked to at least pretend he would stand a chance.

“Just say it already,” said Harry with a deep sigh, waving his hands through the air in an unenthusiastic come-at-me gesture. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I’m not saying anything,” said Mills hastily, and then she chose the bench furthest away from them.

“I’ll say it,” said Armstrong readily. “What the hell were you _thinking_ , Malfoy?”

Alright, they had lost him now. Draco had no idea what she meant and the dubious look on her face didn’t help him any.

“Yeah, Draco,” said Robinson. “ _Harry_? I mean … _really_?”

“Yeah, I think he gets it,” said Harry pointedly.

“I really don’t,” said Draco.

Haynes shook his head solemnly. “We are just wondering what the hell you see in him.”

“I mean, sure, he’s a passable Seeker, but what kind of real-life value does he have?” added Robinson.

“And his _aim_ is terrible,” said Flynn Montgomery. He looked Draco up and down. “You seem like a decent thrower.”

Mason cocked her head and squinted at Harry. “He _looks_ alright, I guess. Could definitely be worse.”

“Are you finished then?” said Harry, crossing his arms in an attempt at looking put-out.

“Oh, not by a long shot,” said Robinson. She was certainly grinning a lot. “Guys, remind me, what else was on the list?”

“He’s a Healer,” said Haynes, pointing at Draco. “ _He_ has a _real_ job.”

“And _I_ don’t?”

Armstrong scoffed. “You’re pushing thirty –”

“I’m twenty-five!” Harry pointed at Draco with his gloves. “So is he!”

“– and still playing games all day, every day.” She shook her head as if Harry were the saddest thing she had ever seen.

 _‘What?’_ mouthed Harry, eyebrows high. “So do you! And you are four years older than me!”

“Yeah,” said Armstrong lightly. “But I have the decency not to collar one of the really good ones. I know my place.”

“Your boyfriend’s a model!” Harry said accusingly.

“So? He’s not very bright, is what I’m saying.”

“Your boyfriend’s a model?” asked Draco, because he had been much too quiet for his own liking, there was an opening in the conversation and it was the first thing that came to mind.

Armstrong winked at Draco. “I doubt you’d have seen it. Bradbridge does mostly Muggle stuff. His father is a Muggle.”

“Your boyfriend’s name is _Bradbridge_?”

That might have been the stupidest name Draco had ever heard. There wasn’t even a corresponding constellation to make up for it.

“His first name is Bartholomew, but I’m not calling him _that_.”

“What about _Bart_?” said Mills, inserting herself after all. She had already changed into her full Keeper’s gear while the rest of the team stood around half-naked. “Or Barty?”

Armstrong pretended to gag.

“I’ll never understand why you don’t just call him Brad,” said Harry.

“There’s a lot you don’t understand,” said Armstrong.

“Could we talk about how Draco has actual manners and Harry doesn’t?” said Mason. “I’ve been kind of looking forward to that part.”

Harry slapped a hand against his chest. “ _Ouch_ , Lauryn!”

“It’s true,” said Haynes. “We can’t take you anywhere. Our drinks aren’t safe and it’s actually kind of hard to pull with you around, did you know?”

“That’s not … true?” said Harry lamely.

“Face it, Harry,” said Robinson. She gave him a pitying smile. “Draco is too good for you.”

“So …” said Draco, looking at all of them in turn and finally at Harry. “When you said they were _‘cool with it’_ –”

Mason gasped excessively and pointed at Harry. “ _That’s_ what you told him?”

“Oh, we are _so_ not cool with it,” clarified Robinson. “We are entirely against this thing.”

Armstrong nodded. “Potter is a drain on society and we don’t understand why you put up with him.”

There was a short silence and then Harry said, “ _Now_ are you finished?”

“Oh, I’m sure we could go on,” said Robinson, but then Harry gave her a dark look and she laughed instead.

She stopped when harsh voices reached them from the hallway, and then the door was pushed open and Greyson rushed in, Felicity close on his heels and talking at him insistently.

“Even _if_ he –”

Greyson seemed strained as his eyes swept the room, but then he spotted Harry half-way out of his jeans and his face lit up in apparent relief.

“Just because he’s _here,_ doesn’t mean –”

Greyson held up a hand and Felicity shut up, a very sour look on her face.

“Harry,” he said, giving him a very intense look. “You’re up for this right? It’s not going to be a problem?”

“Why would it?” said Harry, glaring at Felicity.

“Maybe because you obviously don’t know how to separate your private life from work?” said Felicity in a clipped tone, looking from him to Draco and back disdainfully.

Harry threw his jeans at a bench. “Alright, that’s _it_! Let’s take this outside.”

He had the same look on his face that Draco now associated with broken glass doors and smashed shields, and his wand was already in his hand.

Draco had no doubt that Harry had already made up his mind about Felicity being the spy, even if he may not have known it himself yet. And Harry was _pissed_.

“Are you _threatening_ me?” Felicity took a step forward, drawing her own wand. “ _Fine_ with me!”

Greyson took hold of her arm and dragged her back.

“Have you lost your minds?” he said, voice dangerously low. Then he exploded. “I WILL NOT HAVE MY PLAYERS DUEL AMONGST THEMSELVES! THIS ISN’T _HOGWARTS_!”

As uncomfortable as it was having to stand there and listen to him chastise Harry and Felicity like school children, Draco had to admit that he was right this time.

“McCarthy – office. The rest of you – outside, warm-up. _Now_.”

Robinson stepped up. “Draco has to –”

Greyson glared at her, glanced at Draco for a split-second and then growled. “Check-up, _then_ outside!”

Felicity stomped outside. Draco went over to Mills, who was the only one ready, and started checking her vitals.

Fuming, Harry got back to changing his clothes, merely glancing up when Greyson approached him. “You’re good to play, right?”

“I already said I am,” said Harry sourly, putting his trackies on with much more force than was strictly necessary.

“That’s what you said last time as well, and then –”

“I know what happened,” hissed Harry. “Trust me, I can do this. That was different.”

Greyson didn’t seem convinced (Draco could tell, because he didn’t answer), and Harry sighed.

“Honestly, Matt. It was the morning after our break-up. I hadn’t slept at all. This isn’t like that. I’m not going to let you down this time.”

“You’d better not, or I might start to think Felicity is right after all,” muttered Greyson.

~o~

Walking out onto the pitch was … different this time.

Ever since Draco’s first match as the Falcons’ Healer, there had been applause whenever people saw him. There had been whistles, there had been the occasional plush toy on the pitch, there had even been one or two declarations of love.

Now: A whole lot of camera flashes and, apart from that, silence.

It was alright, really. Draco didn’t mind. This was better than open hostility. These people were just … indifferent. Probably more interested in Quidditch than Harry’s love life. Exactly how it was supposed to be, right? As long as they didn’t try to hex him, he was content.

The game was different too.

After half an hour it became glaringly obvious that Harry was unfocused. He tensed whenever a player of the opposing team got close to him and Draco suspected that he was trying to keep away from them.

Then Terrence Ashdown, one of Puddlemere’s Beaters, yelled something as he shot a Bludger at him and Harry barely managed to dodge in time, despite the notice.

Draco couldn’t understand what was said up in the air, but he could read the angry glare Harry gave Ashdown.

It soon became clear that Puddlemere had made Harry out as the Falcons’ weak link. Both Beaters were completely focused on him, not even pretending to aim at any of the other players.

This caused the Falcons’ Beaters to keep close to Harry as well, which meant that he was surrounded by four players almost constantly, making it nearly impossible to manoeuvre the pitch while the other Seeker, Sophia Grant, was free to roam.

Both sets of Beaters seemed to be yelling at each other while Harry was mainly focused on evading the Bludgers. At second glance it became clear that the Puddlemere Beaters were still shouting at _Harry_ , who was doing his best to ignore them, while Robinson and Haynes yelled back.

Draco was just wondering how much longer Harry would be able to take it, when he suddenly turned around to face Robinson, who was flying directly beside him. His hand gesture was unmistakeable – he wanted Robinson and Haynes to back off.

Ashdown used the distraction to his advantage – Robinson was on the wrong side of Harry and couldn’t see the approaching Bludger. Haynes sped up with a yelled warning, but the Bludger was faster than him.

It struck Harry smack in the middle.

Robinson just managed to duck away and Harry crashed into one of the stands instead, which was dressed in the grey-and-white banner of the Falcons.

Harry got caught up in the fabric on his way down, which slowed him down considerably. He didn’t even hit the ground but came to a stop a few feet above the pitch, face up and suspended by the banner wrapped around his torso.

The referee blew his whistle for a time-out as Draco ran across the pitch. He reached Harry a few seconds after the rest of his team did. Lauryn Mason was supporting his head with both hands and trying to talk to him, but he seemed to have trouble focusing on her.

Haynes and Montgomery were already trying to find a way to free Harry, but Draco put a hand on Montgomery’s shoulder and drew his wand.

“I need to check him first. Taking him down now could cause further damage.”

“ _Draco?_ ” Harry said in a daze, lifting his head feebly in his general direction.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Draco said calmly while doing his spells. “It’s going to be alright. Just try to keep still.”

This didn’t seem to pose a problem for Harry, as both his arms were pinned against his body and he was barely conscious. Maybe because one of his ribs was broken. _Again._ Another stamp for his rewards card.

“You’re in luck, Montgomery,” Draco said with a relieved grin. “You’re still the leading Concussion Champion.”

Montgomery pumped his fist and Draco healed Harry’s rib. Then he got Haynes (who was the most muscular of them by far) to support Harry while he cut the banner with a _Diffindo_.

Robinson freed Harry from his half of the banner and then Haynes put him on his feet, grabbing him around the middle as his legs gave in.

Draco pointed over at the Healers’ bench and they made their way over there. Harry’s eyes seemed to be closed and he could barely lift his feet, causing him to stumble constantly.

When they were halfway across the pitch, Haynes just bent down and picked him up. He carried Harry the rest of the way like he weighed nothing. Draco felt a sudden urge to start weightlifting.

Greyson, his daughter and McCarthy were waiting for them at the edge of the pitch. Little Greyson was ashen-faced, staring at Harry as Haynes sat him down on the bench. McCarthy was talking at Greyson animatedly.

Greyson fixed Draco with a stern look. “He can still play, right?”

“Matt, _look_ at him!” Leona said resolutely, stepping forward. “They’ll smash him.”

Now Greyson narrowed his eyes at her. “We can’t afford another match without a Seeker. That one time last year was hard enough.”

“That was also against Puddlemere.” Robinson crossed her arms. “And we won that one.”

“By ten points!”

Felicity cleared her throat and then, pursing her lips, said, “Maybe if you weren’t relying on Potter so much, we wouldn’t have come in third place last season. And maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation now.”

Greyson ignored her, but Harry grimaced (either in physical or mental pain).

“Am fine,” he ground out, eyes still closed.

“He’s _not_ fine,” Draco said, kneeling down in front of Harry. He was planning on checking his pupillary light reflex, but that would require Harry to really open his eyes.

Somebody above them wolf-whistled.

Draco looked up and spotted the Puddlemere players grouped around one of their goal posts, pointing at them and joking among themselves. They seemed to have used the time to discuss their game strategy while their Seeker was scanning the pitch.

Careful to keep a straight face, Draco returned his attention to Harry, who seemed to be doing his darndest not to sway on the spot.

“Those assholes have it in for him,” Robinson pressed out through clenched teeth. “They’ve been winding him up the whole time.”

“How?” Greyson demanded.

Nobody answered, but when Draco looked up, the whole team was looking at him.

Harry chose that moment to seize the front of Draco’s scrubs, which certainly didn’t make it better. A few more people were whistling now, and not just their rivals – spectators on both sides, too.

Harry put his hand into one of Draco’s front pockets and pulled out a small vial filled with blue potion.

“I can play,” he said, struggling to open it.

“That’s the spirit!” Greyson bent down, opened it for him and then helped him drink it before Draco could even protest.

Not that the potion was _bad_ for Harry – Draco would have given it to him anyway, but not to get him back in the air!

“He’ll just break his rib again!” How many times did Draco have to say it? Freshly healed bones were more fragile than usual.

Harry grabbed Haynes arm and pulled himself upright. “Then I’ll just not get hit, how does that sound?”

“Delusional.”

“Tell me you’re not really letting him play!”

If Draco had to describe the look on Felicity’s face, he would have chosen the word _‘livid’_. She would evidently prefer her team lost pathetically if it meant that Harry would be the one responsible.

“Harry can decide for himself!” said Little-Greyson, brushing some of her flaming red hair out of her face.

She gave Draco a defiant look, as if she was opposing _him_ instead of Felicity.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her and she straightened her back, placing both hands on her hips. Draco just shook his head in clear dismissal and looked away.

“Potter, I want you to focus on the _match_ , understood? Up there your personal life doesn’t exist!”

The coach glanced at Draco as well, as if he wished that Harry’s personal life didn’t exist down here either.

Draco got a definite Cortez-like vibe. Another person who didn’t want him working for them. He crossed his arms and pressed his lips together.

Harry wasn’t in any serious danger, so he couldn’t just ban him from the match. Greyson would probably use it against him immediately. And Harry would likely accuse him of being overprotective, which certainly wouldn’t go over well.

“At your own peril, _Potter._ ” Draco turned away and dropped down next to Puddlemere’s Healer Cassiopeia Frey on the second bench.

She turned her head, pretending to watch her team up in the air. He fully expected her to switch benches as soon as the opportunity presented itself. So much for espresso shots with the Quidditch Guys.

It was the worst game Draco ever had to watch. And that was saying something.

It became immediately apparent that Puddlemere wasn’t going to get off Harry’s back.

The Beaters were still targeting him specifically and even though Harry gritted his teeth and tried to hide it, Draco could see he wasn’t in peak form. His turns weren’t as smooth anymore and he was definitely favouring his injured side, leaning slightly to the right.

Also, the opposing players was still yelling at him whenever they passed him, but Harry just tensed and pretended he couldn’t see or hear them.

There was a sudden rise in noise half an hour later, which seemed to rouse Harry (whom Draco was watching like a hawk) from some kind of trance.

He whipped around, already speeding up as he sought out Sophia Grant, who was diving for the Snitch. Draco didn’t need to hear it to know he was cursing.

There was no way he would make it if Grant didn’t fuck up now. She was almost level with the Snitch already, and Harry was still so far away.

She stretched out her hand. Her fingertips were brushing its wings –

_WHAM!_

Grant shrieked in pain as a Bludger smashed her arm, and she went into a downward spiral, cradling it to her chest while she desperately tried to steady her broom with one hand.

It was up to Harry now. If he managed to get the Snitch before Grant reached the ground, they’d win. If he didn’t … then they were in time-out and the Snitch would most likely vanish again.

Grant was as far away from the ground as he was from the Snitch now, but the Snitch was moving away from Harry while the ground stayed where it had always been.

Both teams were shouting at their Seekers now.

Harry flattened himself on his broom as much as possible. One of the Puddlemere Beaters tried to block him and nearly got a Bludger to the face in response.

But then one of the Chasers took his place, and she was directly in Harry’s path to victory. He shouted something unintelligible, heading directly for her.

They were going to crash – Harry wouldn’t dodge now, not when the Snitch was there for the taking, not after they’d spent the whole match humiliating him.

At the very last second, the Chaser veered off and nearly crashed into Robinson, who was dropping in from further up. She and Haynes were now flying in V-formation on either side of Harry, ready to beat off anybody who could be trying to stop him.

Grant was almost at the ground now, already stretching out her legs to brace for the touchdown.

And the stadium exploded.

~o~

“Malfoy!” Greyson cut them off in the hallway leading out of the changing rooms.

Harry and Draco turned to look at him. Harry seemed unusually tense, which gave Draco an idea of what to expect.

“Let me guess: You’ll request another Healer?”

“You saw what went on out there. You’re a distraction.”

Harry drew himself to full height (which wasn’t all that much) and took a deep breath (which must have hurt with his bruised ribs), but Greyson cut him off with a stern look.

“Save it. My decision is final. I need someone who treats my team like patients, not like their ... _whatever_.”

Draco got the feeling that Greyson wasn’t willing or able to call him Harry’s boyfriend. Draco certainly wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he was a homophobe. Or maybe it was bad for their image if the Falcons’ Golden Boy wasn’t available. Or with a former Death Eater.

“That’s bollocks!” Harry protested, pointing at Greyson with the closed fist that was still holding the Snitch. “We’ve been together the whole time Draco worked for us and he did a damn good job! We’re all still alive, right? Nobody got badly injured, unlike when _Dayal_ had the job!”

Greyson’s expression soured considerably, like there was a bad taste in his mouth. “So _now_ you’re telling me our Healer has been biased for over a year?”

“ _Biased?_ ” Harry exploded. “What’s wrong with him caring about me? I’d be worried if the Team Healer had a grudge against somebody on the team, not if he cares too much!”

Draco smiled mildly, trying to convey that he wasn’t bothered by this development, even though he was.

He liked to think that he could be level-headed when it came to his job, that he treated every player equally. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t prioritised Harry at the other players’ expenses at least once.

Greyson wasn’t _wrong_ in letting him go. It was just that Draco didn’t really trust another Healer to stand up to him.

“Very well. Harry will hand in my scrubs first thing tomorrow. Have a nice day.”

Owling them in would have worked just as well, but why pass up an opportunity for Harry to glare at Greyson some more?

He took Harry’s hand very demonstratively and pulled him along. He was still holding the Snitch in it, but Draco wasn’t going to let go until they were out of sight.

“ _But –,_ ” Harry said, looking back at Greyson over his shoulder like he wasn’t finished with him yet.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco said loud and clear. “It’s only a job and I’d choose you over it any day. I’ve got other things to work on anyway.”

They could hear Greyson stomp away, slamming a door that stood in his way.

“That bloody –,” Harry began. He was squeezing Draco’s hand in anger and there was a buzz in the air that gave Draco goose bumps.

“You won’t quit,” Draco said resolutely.

“I could!”

Draco laughed lightly. “You’ve got a seasonal contract.”

Harry’s answer was instantaneous. “I’ll just pay the fine.”

“No other team will be able to sign you for the rest of the season.”

“Then I’ll just …”

He made a vague gesture with his free hand that was no clue at all as to what he’d plan to do with the rest of the year if he really went through with this.

“Sit back and watch?” Draco suggested sarcastically. “Enjoy your free time?”

“I could!” said Harry hotly, letting go of his hand to rummage through his bag. He handed Draco his Invisibility Cloak and then vanished underneath his own.

They both knew he couldn’t, though. He’d go crazy if he had to watch Felicity take his place. And he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to just do nothing all day.

Draco looked at the spot where Harry had been. “What about the team?”

Harry didn’t answer, but Draco could hear him breathe out heavily. It didn’t matter, because Draco already knew what his decision would be. He loved his team. He wouldn’t leave them hanging.

The Cloak was plucked from Draco’s hands and draped around his shoulders. There were lips on Draco’s, cold hands at his neck, and then Harry pulled the hood over his head too.

“Maybe I should just buy the team.”

Draco laughed. “I doubt they’re selling.”

A sigh before Harry pushed open the exit. “Would be brilliant though. Then I could finally sack McCarthy.”

And he grabbed Draco’s arm, whisking him away while the waiting reporters were still trying to figure out why the door had opened on its own.


	66. Chaos in Motion [Tuesday, March 28th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments: Justforthedead, Fan, ThatBoringOne, night, Zezily, WildvanillaRose, Slytherinz_Ghost, Fandomwarriorqueen, SHkatty, Anonymous, filidoune, XOX_Eternity_XOX, mywaywardsin, kylorrren, illindalenti and hush_over_the_night! ❤️
> 
> Good to hear you love to hate some of my characters! Believe me, I do too! 😅
> 
> I also love reading all your speculations and hearing what your favourite parts are. Some are my favourite parts too (like Harry sucking at throwing things) and others are a complete surprise to me. 😊
> 
> Alright, this one’s really short. I am considering posting the next one early, but I’m not feeling so good today, so I’ll have to see if I manage to get out of bed tomorrow morning. 😉
> 
> Title: I The Mighty – Chaos in Motion 

“You lied to me,” hissed Courtney Nash as she leaned over Draco’s shoulder under the pretence of having a look at his chart.

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” said Draco evenly.

He was scanning the patient list for something … well, he didn’t want to say _safe_ … but maybe something … not teen-girly, if he could help it. This was his first shift since the article, after all. He was expecting at least some kind of trouble.

“You said you weren’t dating any of the Falcons!” Yes, that was an accusation.

“I’m pretty sure I said I wasn’t dating any of the girls.”

Draco selected an old and senile witch with a broken hip. She probably wouldn’t even know what year it was, so it seemed safe enough.

“You knew what I was going to take away from that,” muttered Nash.

Draco shrugged. “Still not a lie.”

“Bloody Slytherins.” Nash sighed and bumped his shoulder. “Props, though. Now, _how_ the hell did you do that?”

Draco shrugged again and searched the ward for his patient, finally finding her on a stretcher at the far wall. Yes, she certainly looked batty enough.

“Wasn’t hard, really. He likes getting called out on his shit, and that is kind of my specialty.” Draco set off towards his patient. “So, are you going to apply for the position?”

Nash followed Draco through the ward. “Too late. Cortez assigned Sanders this morning.”

“Sanders?” Draco frowned. “ _Penelope_ Sanders?”

“That’s the one.”

Nash stayed next to Draco as he sat down on his examination stool and introduced himself to his patient, who didn’t even seem to realise that she was injured and at St. Mungo’s, let alone that he was shagging the Saviour of the Wizarding world.

Draco healed her and instructed a mediwizard to take her up to a room before continuing the conversation right where they had left off.

“Didn’t she leave a year ago?”

Draco was fairly sure because she had always looked at him sulkily whenever they had been in a room together, and that had certainly stopped. But that wasn’t the only thing bothering Draco.

“Also, Sanders isn’t even on Trauma. She does physical therapy,” he added.

Well, at least she had tried to, with Harry. Seemed like now she would get to work with him after all. Draco could imagine what Harry would have to say to that.

At least it wasn’t Dayal again.

“She did. She left for France, switched to Trauma there. She’s been back for about a week now.” Nash paused for a second. “Wow, seems like a _lot_ has happened this past week.”

“You can say that again.”

Nash didn’t though, because she remembered that she too was supposed to be working and strolled over to a small family that had been eyeing Draco ever since his shift had started half an hour ago. Nash really was alright.

Draco’s next patient was an emergency, and she didn’t have any time to ask Draco anything, because she was too busy trying not to bleed out. Draco really liked that about her, almost as much as the fact that she _didn’t_ bleed out, in the end. That was a quality he had always valued in patients.

Every other patient after that was just a constant test of patience.

“What kind of underwear _does_ he wear?” – A fifteen-year-old girl with a bloody _scratch_ that took five seconds to heal!

“You have such beautiful hair, my dear. Would you mind if I took just a strand of it? Just to show to my hair dresser, you see? For colour reference.” – A very creepy middle-aged witch. And yes, Draco did mind.

“Have you no shame?! Wasn’t it enough that you lot murdered his parents?! Do you have to take that poor boy’s chance at a proper family, too?!” – Surprisingly, not an old lady but rather a sobbing seventeen-year-old Hogwarts dropout.

“So, _is_ it true that he’s got a Hungarian Horntail tattooed on his chest?” – “No, Sarah, I told you, I heard it’s a hippogriff!” – “How dumb are you? It’s obviously a stag!” – Self-explanatory, wasn’t it?

“Hold that for me for a second, would you, my dear?” – A very sweet old lady handing him a ball of wool, which promptly started to whip him everywhere it could reach.

“I’m sure they’re going to calm down soon, don’t worry.” – Not a patient but Nash, who had come back to check on him and healed the angry red lines all across his face and hands.

“Now that I’ve got your attention, what do you want to say to the people accusing you of using Harry Potter to boost your own name?” – A reporter from Witch Weekly, who had gotten crushed against the barricaded front doors by her follow journalists and had promptly taken his picture the second she opened her eyes.

“Can I have your autograph?” – A … well, there was no other way to say it, really … a _very_ gay forty-one-year-old wizard, who shoved the current _Harry Hotter_ calendar at him. July’s _‘Harry’_ was painted completely gold, wearing only metallic pants and what appeared to be Snitch wings on his back.

“I don’t want _you_ to treat me! Also, I’m going to owl the Aurors about you. You’re not getting away with Imperius-ing Harry Potter! Not on my watch!” – More than one patient, to be completely honest. Draco lost count at some point.

“Draco!”

Draco sighed. His hand was already on the Floo bowl, he was almost home, why did she have to find him _now_?

He straightened and turned around, trying for a smile. “Tabitha, hello.”

Here they went again. Draco wondered what it would be this time – silent judgement, homophobic remarks, open hostility or an attempt at getting information about Harry?

She smiled back, although a little hesitantly. “Er … Are you done for today?”

Draco nodded slowly. “Yes, thank Merlin.”

She looked him up and down, eyes lingering for a second on the faint whip marks left at his hands. “Looks like you had a … rough … day?”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I wished people would be nicer to you.”

“Oh,” said Draco dumbly. This wasn’t what he had expected. “That is … thank you.”

She took a deep breath and then, finally, looked him in the eyes. “I just wanted to say … I’m happy for you. If you’re happy, I mean. And if you still wanted to get coffee sometime, I’d be up for it. Maybe not with the Quidditch Guys. But Courtney could come?”

“ _Oh_ ,” said Draco again. Merlin, the last eight hours must really have killed something inside of him. Like his speech centre. “I would _love_ to. Thank you, Tabitha. That’s really nice of you.”

She smiled in obvious relief and then, quite unexpectedly (but what part of this conversation wasn’t?), closed the last steps between them and hugged him.

Draco froze for a second, entirely unprepared for this event, but then Tabitha patted his back and Draco brought himself to respond in kind. It was kind of nice. Better than getting attacked, at any rate.

When she let go of him, she was smiling more easily. “See? I keep telling people you’re not nearly as cold as you’d like to be.”

“Are you now?” Draco shook his head. “I’ve been thinking that the Trainees don’t fear me nearly as much as they used to do.”

Tabitha laughed. “Oh, they still fear you plenty, don’t worry.”

~o~

Harry was in a mood, but that was nothing new.

When Draco stepped out of his fireplace, Harry stood frozen right between Draco’s kitchen and living room area.

Aurelius was sleeping on the couch, there were two mugs of tea on the coffee table, the wireless was on and Harry had obviously been pacing and looking at his watch, if his rolled up left sleeve was any indication.

“Finally,” he muttered, and then he was there, kissing Draco urgently. “What took you so long?”

“Long?” Draco took a step back so he could have a proper look at him. “It’s only half to four.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s only …,” Harry’s eyes flickered towards the wireless, “Your last patient was discharged fifteen minutes ago.”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned it off with a flick of his wand. Then he sat down next to Aurelius and picked up his mug.

“So, what kind of nice things are they saying about me?”

Harry shrugged half-heartedly and sat down Draco’s arm rest. “Seems like they pester everybody who leaves Mungo’s and ask for statements. You didn’t _really_ get attacked with knitting needles, right?”

“No, that’s utter rubbish,” said Draco lightly. “Is that what they’re reporting? I’m surprised you didn’t come rushing to my sickbed immediately.”

Harry punched his shoulder and took up his own mug.

“I figured it was rubbish,” he muttered in between sips. “Or they would have sent Aurors to arrest her, not just some patrolmen. Besides, you didn’t use the necklace, so I wasn’t _too_ worried.”

“I couldn’t have used it if she had killed me instantly,” Draco pointed out. “So there is that.”

“You are horrible.” Harry looked down at him, narrowing his eyes and grinning. “But maybe I should have a good look at you? Just to check you’re really still in one piece.”

“Well … I suppose if you _really_ must.”

It seemed that Harry did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one is another one of my favourites 😊


	67. Partners in Crime [Friday, April 14th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you: Justforthedead, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Gallavich_endgame_2934, Slytherinz_Ghost, hitomu, linellin, bloodyhamster, IzzyShep, Anonymous, WildvanillaRose, minijaxter, illindalenti, M.a., Fan, AlluraBelle, SimplySomeone, Zezily, You_Wish, filidoune, hush_over_the_night! 😊
> 
> I’m alive! So here it is. 🤗
> 
> Also, wow. Do you really trust me so little? I don’t _only_ like catastrophes.

Jarrett Abrams was lying on one of the benches in the locker room, a newspaper floating above his face.

Draco thanked the powers that be for his and Nash’s breakup, because, before that lucky occurrence, one usually only found the two of them _together_ during breaks. In the on-call room, more often than not, but also in the shower room on one memorable occasion.

Draco liked it better this way. It certainly was much easier on the eyes.

“Malfoy! There you are!” hollered Abrams as soon as Draco had closed the door. “On your way home to your _perfect little family?_ ”

“What are you talking about?” Draco said in his most bored voice.

Abrams wasn’t always making sense even on his better days, so Draco wasn’t exactly invested in this conversation. If he could help it, it wouldn’t even _be_ a conversation.

He opened his locker with a touch of his wand and changed into shoes that weren’t completely drenched in blood. The old ones he charmed into the waste basket. No matter how many times you Scourgified your clothes, blood seemed to linger.

When Draco looked back up, Abrams had turned the Prophet around so Draco could see the article he had been reading, and Draco’s stomach fell through the floor.

Someone had caught them at the Falcons’ stadium with Teddy a month prior. Merlin, there had been nothing about this in the briefcase!

There were several photographs. Teddy on his training broom, looking incredibly tiny while flying between Harry and Draco. Passing the Quaffle along while hovering just a few feet above ground. Harry teaching Teddy a sloth-grip roll with Draco standing by, ready to cast a cushioning charm. The three of them sitting on the grass afterwards, eating sandwiches and laughing.

Abrams was gloating, roaming his face greedily. “Mother, father and child. Very idyllic. You’re handing out the sandwiches – that makes you the mother, right?”

Draco ripped the Prophet out of his hands and turned it around so he could see the front page – which they had made, of course. The head-line read _‘Meeting the family’_.

“He has Potter’s eyes and mop,” commented Abrams nastily. “But it seems to be your hair colour, doesn’t it?”

A second later, Draco stood over Abrams, looking down at him coldly.

“You might do well to remember what I’ve got to tell about you and Cortez,” he hissed. “And that _you_ don’t have anything to hold over _me_ anymore.”

Without waiting for a reply, Draco slammed his locker shut and made his way outside.

Eyes seemed to follow him down the corridor and one witch from the Potions Ward grinned at him and said “Hey, lovebird” in a sing-song voice.

Well, at least people weren’t actively seeking him out anymore to threaten him. And not one patient had yelled at him the whole day, which brought the count up to exactly one.

He put on his Invisibility Cloak as soon as he reached the staircase and Disapparated just outside the building (where only three of the reporters’ tents were still standing).

~o~

Harry had already seen it.

Draco knew, because he could hear a quick succession of thuds and heavy breathing from upstairs.

He left his Cloak on his assigned clothes hook and the Prophet on the kitchen counter (next to an enormous mountain of anger-pancakes) and went upstairs.

Harry was beating the shit out of his punch bag, sweaty clothes clinging to his body. The bandages around his knuckles were bloody.

Draco leaned against the bannister, a safe distance away. “Guess punching Cuffe in the face wasn’t enough of a warning.”

Harry grunted and proceeded to demolish his punch bag, which already seemed somewhat deformed.

“I hope you’re not gearing up for another go at Cuffe,” said Draco. “The Aurors can only ignore that so many times.”

Harry grabbed the punch bag in both hands to keep it still. He took three sharp breaths in quick succession and then turned to fix him with a determined look.

“I want to do it _your_ way.”

“My way?” Draco frowned. Did he have a way? “Do you want to shrink his bladder now?”

“No.” Harry unwound the bandages and inspected his hands, looking almost uninterested. “We need to speak his language – he obviously doesn’t understand Gryffindor.”

“So, what ... you want to blackmail him?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Not very noble.”

Harry fixed him with a hard look, arms crossed. “Never claimed to be.”

“Don’t let your fans hear that.”

“They can go to hell.”

Harry threw his bandages on top of the punch bag and vanished all of it. Then he came over to where Draco was still leaning against the bannister and pulled him in for a very hard kiss.

Draco pushed him away immediately. “Gross. You reek like a whole Quidditch team.”

“And you’ve got arnica in your hair, but you don’t hear me complaining.” Harry seized his wrist and pulled him towards the bathroom. “Shower.”

“You still seem very angry.”

“Never stopped you before.” Harry pushed him against the wall and started to kiss his neck to emphasise his point. “I thought you liked me angry.”

Then he bit him, and Draco’s knees turned weak all of a sudden. Harry, who had apparently foreseen that, kept him upright by pushing him against the wall even harder.

Draco’s brain seemed unable to form words, so he just nodded distractedly.

He tried to pull Harry’s t-shirt over his head, but it was too wet and clung to his body, so Draco just ripped it, which certainly didn’t help calm Harry down.

Not that that had been Draco’s intention.

~o~

Harry had had to leave for practice and Draco had been in dire need of some sleep, so they had agreed to meet outside the Prophet headquarters at five.

Now they were staked out just across the street, wearing their Invisibility Cloaks.

Posted outside the entrance were three security trolls carrying heavy clubs, and employees were peeking out of their windows every now and then. They also had reinforced the glass doors, which seemed to be interwoven with steel now.

“Seems like Cuffe knows he crossed the line again,” Draco said casually.

“Those trolls surely won’t save him.” The grinding of teeth was practically audible. “Can’t wait to visit McCarthy afterwards, when we have proof.”

Draco hesitated. “So … you’re certain it’s her?”

There was a short laugh. “She was the only one who saw us there, Draco.”

“That’s what’s so suspicious about this,” muttered Draco. “She knows nobody else was there. She would have to be crazy to give herself away like that.”

Harry scoffed. “She wasn’t at practice today. Something about her parents’ anniversary. What more do you need to know?”

“Sounds like a valid reason.”

Harry was sceptical. “For missing the last practice before a match?”

Draco sighed. “Let’s not make any rash decisions, that is all I am asking.”

“No promises,” muttered Harry.

Half an hour later, a large group of employees left the building all at once. Cuffe, who was wearing a full outfit of shield-wear, was walking in their midst and kept glancing over his shoulder. He Disapparated as soon as they reached the sidewalk.

“Well, that complicates things,” said Draco. They had hoped that Cuffe would fly home or maybe take the Knight Bus. “How are we supposed to find out where he’s going? Grabbing him when he Apparates is not very subtle.”

“You are the Slytherin. You tell me.”

“My best advice would be to ask Hermione. She’s the one who always figured your stuff out, right?”

“I told you, I’m not involving them. They’re both working for the Ministry; they could lose their jobs.”

“ _As if,_ ” Draco scoffed. Nobody in their right mind would move against the Golden Trio.

They watched the Prophet workers split up into pairs (probably for safety reasons) and walk in different directions.

Draco recognised the receptionist from their last visit, the one who had bailed as soon as she saw them. She was walking with the Prophet’s Quidditch correspondent.

“Fine. I guess we could bribe one of his employees,” said Draco silently.

Harry certainly had more than enough gold.

“Over my dead body. Those people don’t have a conscience. I trust them as far as I can throw them.”

“I’m just saying, why did he have to publish that _today?_ ” said the correspondent heatedly. “He must know that the Falcons are playing the Tornados this weekend. Couldn’t he have waited until after the match? Potter was completely off his game when the whole Malfoy thing broke. It’s ruining Quidditch.”

“ _I was not –,_ ” Harry hissed, but Draco quickly shushed him.

The receptionist shot a glance in their general direction and then picked up the pace.

“He probably had his reasons ...,” she said slowly. “But you have to admit it was really cute. Teddy is _adorable._ ”

The correspondent just rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like “ _witches_ ”. Then they rounded a corner and were gone.

“That’s our man,” Draco said decidedly. “We’ll just have to convince him that Cuffe really is ruining Quidditch and he’ll probably spy on him for free.”

Harry didn’t sound convinced. “He still works for the Prophet.”

“You heard him, that’s a Quidditch fanatic.”

“I don’t know ... let’s try something else.”

“Like _what?_ Break into Cuffe’s house and kidnap his family?”

Harry was silent for longer than Draco liked, like he was seriously considering it.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Draco clarified. “That is _illegal_.”

“Let’s break into his office. Maybe we’ll find something else.” Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the building.

“That is also illegal!”

“But it’s empty now!”

“Which means it’s probably locked!”

Harry scoffed. “ _Please._ That won’t stop _us._ ”

“I can’t break into a building, Potter! They won’t just let me off the hook when they realise it’s me!”

“They’d have to catch us first. We’ll be in and out in no time. Trust me.”

Wow. Harry really did what he wanted these days, didn’t he? Not a care in the world about the consequences, always acting before he thought. What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

“Trust you? With my freedom?”

“Have I ever let you down?” Draco could only guess that Harry was glaring at him right now.

Draco snorted. “Countless times! You’re not exactly known for your well-thought-out plans. Remember when you brought a venomous snake to my house without so much as a warning? Or that one time you nearly got yourself kidnapped? How about –”

“Fine.” Draco felt Harry rush past him. “I won’t make you. Meet you back here.”

“Wait!” Draco hissed, but it was drowned out by the deafening noise of several trashcans falling over a short way down the street.

The security trolls grunted menacingly and stomped over to them, dragging their clubs across the cobblestones. Whether that was to elicit fear or because they were just lazy, Draco couldn’t say. What he knew was that they added to the already considerable level of noise, creating the perfect cover for Harry.

Draco looked over at the building just in time to see the doors open on their own.

Merlin, Harry really was going to do it. Who knew what else he was going to come up with? Draco wouldn’t put it past him to demolish Cuffe’s office in a rage.

The doors were closing again, and then Draco was in motion before he even knew what he was doing, dashing through the door and colliding very hard with something invisible just behind it.

A burst of magic rushed over him as he crashed to the floor, landing on what only could be Harry.

“God,” Harry gasped, pushing Draco off just this side of gently.

Draco rubbed his right wrist, which had taken the brunt of his fall.

That was when he noticed that his Invisibility Cloak was gone. The necklace only seemed to protect Draco himself against Harry’s magic, but the Cloak had been blown away.

At least his wand was still where it had been, tucked safely into his pocket. He took it out and summoned the Cloak.

Then he swept the floor with his hands until he found where Harry was lying on the floor, and pushed the hood down so he could see his face.

“Decided to come after all, have you?”

Harry sat up suddenly, which meant that his head was now floating a few feet above the ground.

“Somebody has to keep an eye on you,” Draco hissed as he did a quick health check spell, grimacing at the sudden flare of pain in his wrist as he performed the wand motion.

Everything seemed to be alright, so Draco held out his good hand in Harry’s general direction. It felt very strange when Harry’s invisible hand took hold of it. He let go the instant that he was back up on his feet, and then the rest of his body appeared.

“Don’t wanna get run over by you a second time,” said Harry as he stuffed his Cloak into his pocket. “Alright, what do you think? Cuffe’s office?”

“What do _I_ think? This is _your_ heist. Don’t tell me you haven’t even thought about where you want to go.”

“Hey, this is your method, not mine. You’re the expert.”

Draco groaned and did a full body turn so he didn’t have to look at Harry’s stupid face anymore. “Unbelievable! This was your idea, Potter. I swear by Merlin’s beard, if we get caught –”

“We won’t,” Harry said in his most irritated voice. “And the sooner you help me, the faster we’ll be out of here.”

Though Draco very much wanted to argue his case, he also wanted to leave as quickly as possible. He doubted there was just a slight chance they could do that right now, so he just glared at Harry over his shoulder and headed for the stairs.

“His office is most likely. He’d have to be incredibly stupid to keep top-secret information in reach of his employees.”

They didn’t talk at all while they made their way up the dimly lit staircase.

They had just come out on the topmost floor when Harry said, “Feels like being back at Hogwarts, doesn’t it?”

It really did, which was why Draco couldn’t understand why Harry sounded so excited. Whenever Draco had sneaked through the castle, he’d been terrified, afraid that somebody would catch him and he’d have to explain what he was up to.

He was saved the trouble of figuring out what to say to that by Harry’s stupidity. Draco was only just able to grab his hand before he could touch the door handle to Cuffe’s office.

“Full Body-Bind, you moron.”

“Seriously?” Harry sounded as if Draco had just told him there were twelve fully grown giants waiting for them behind the door. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Harry shook his head, so Draco guided his hand within a few inches of the door handle, where the pulse was strongest. Draco himself could feel it throbbing from a good three feet away, reminding him very strongly of Malfoy Manor and its many heirlooms, all hidden behind cursed glass cases.

“Don’t you feel that?”

Harry shrugged, withdrew his hand and took out his wand instead. “ _Finite Incantatem._ ”

He looked at Draco for confirmation and then pushed the door open when he nodded.

“Right,” said Draco, having a look around the dark office. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

“Anything,” Harry said, rolling his eyes at Draco like it was rude of him to ask. “There was nothing about Teddy in the last briefcase. If McCarthy is still tipping him off, I want to know. Maybe there’s another one.”

“You think he’d really be so stupid? There’s no way –”

But the rest of Draco’s sentence was lost as Harry rushed over to the desk and pulled out a briefcase from underneath it, yelling “Aha!” as he slapped it onto the desktop.

“No way,” Draco repeated, looking over his shoulder just to be sure that nobody was watching them. “That was way too easy.”

“Guess he wasn’t expecting us to get in,” Harry said, sitting down on Cuffe’s chair so he could have a better look at the lock. “What was the combination for the last one?”

“He _knows_ that _we_ know it. Why would he use the same combination twice?”

“Same reason why he keeps an identical briefcase in the exact same place? Or why he still writes this stuff about me, even though he _knows_ that I’ll be pissed? He’s just a moron.”

“Nobody is _that_ stupid.”

Harry had an incredulous look on his face. “Crabbe? Goyle?”

Point. “Nobody _successful_ is that stupid.”

“Lockhart?” Harry’s fingers were tapping against the briefcase in an impatient rhythm. “The combination, _please_.”

Draco shook his head uncertainly. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. What if he cursed it?”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “Cuffe’s idea of a strong defence is a whole outfit made of shield wear. I don’t think he even knows _how_ to cast a curse.”

“Why don’t we take it with us and try to open it somewhere safe? Preferably after we’ve both slept it over. Not at –” Draco looked at his watch, but it was too dark to see “– the fucking middle of the night.”

“ _Great_ _plan_ , Draco. He’ll definitely not know that we were here if we just _take_ it.” And then, because he always got reckless when he was excited (or irritated or angry or … the list went on), Harry just pointed his wand at the briefcase and said, “ _Alohomora_.”

Draco flinched. Harry fixed the briefcase with a determined look. Nothing happened.

“See,” said Harry with a cocky grin, “Not cursed. Would you _now_ tell me the combination or do I have to start guessing?”

His fingers were already positioned on the lock.

“You would,” Draco sighed, taking another step towards the desk. His heart was hammering madly in his chest. He was anxious to get out of there. “It’s sigma, iota, zeta, omega.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry turned the briefcase so it was facing the patch of light that came in through the window and leaned over it. “Those _things_ have names?”

“It’s the Greek alphabet. Seriously, Potter, have you been living under a rock?”

Had Draco not been so tense, he even might have gloated a bit. Ever since Harry had introduced him to his Muggle friends, Draco had felt completely clueless most of the time.

Here at last was something he understood that Harry didn’t. Which was more than a little sad, when he stopped to think about it. Harry’s grandmother had been from Greece, and he knew nothing about it.

“How do _you_ know Greek?” Harry beckoned him over without even looking up from the briefcase. “So, which one’s sigma?”

“Looks like an uppercase letter ‘E’. And I don’t know _Greek_ , just the alphabet. You can’t go to Greece without picking it up.”

“ _Sure_ ,” said Harry sarcastically while turning the tiny wheel. “Who hasn’t been to Greece? What came after sigma?”

“Iota. Looks kind of like a lowercase ‘i’. Then zeta, don’t know how I’m going to describe _that_ to you. Looks kind of like a snake, but then again, so does ‘xi’.”

Harry pushed the briefcase towards him in one swift motion. Draco sighed and turned the third wheel to zeta. There was a faint vibration at his fingertips as it snapped into place. Draco hesitated.

“Then omega, right? I know _that_ one.” Harry grabbed the briefcase and pulled it back towards himself. He was silent for a second, then – “It’s not there.”

Draco frowned. The weird feeling he’d had just a moment earlier was immediately replaced by irritation. He didn’t easily forget what he saw by means of Legilimency. There simply was no way that he was misremembering.

He came to stand behind Harry, so he could have a look over his shoulder, and punched his shoulder when he found it instantly, just one slot above the one that was currently selected.

“It’s the lowercase ‘w’, _genius_.”

“Shut up, _Malfoy_.” Harry bumped Draco’s chest with his shoulder and turned the wheel. “Alright, let’s see just how stupid Cuffe is.”

There was an audible _CLICK_ as Harry pushed the snap lock aside. “ _Ha!_ ” he shouted in triumph, and flipped open the lid.

A sudden wailing sound pierced the silence.

Something – multiple somethings – shot out at incredible speed and bounced off Harry’s shield, which suddenly enveloped both of them.

The force of the impact pushed them backwards. Draco fell flat on his arse and out of Harry’s bubble.

The things from the suitcase were back in an instant, winding themselves around Draco’s arms and legs, and for one horrible fraction of a second Draco thought that they were snakes, but then one of them wound itself around his chest, which was illuminated by the moonlight, and he realised that they were really enchanted ropes.

He shouted Harry’s name, but the sirens were too loud to hear a single thing.

Harry had somehow managed to disentangle himself from the chair, which had fallen over, before the ropes could get to him. His shield, which cast everything around him into a soft, blueish light, quivered violently whenever the ropes struck, sometimes all at once, sometimes in quick succession.

By then, Draco was wrapped up so tightly that he couldn’t move a muscle.

The sirens stopped suddenly, but the noise from the striking ropes was still enormous. At the same time, all the lights went on.

Harry’s eyes snapped to Draco’s. Sprinting towards him, he pointed his wand at a point somewhere at Draco’s feet and yelled, “ _Diffindo_ ”.

His shield dropped in the process, but Harry managed to duck below the next rope that came for him and deflected the two after that with his wand.

Harry was almost there now, only a few steps away – one of the ropes caught him around the ankle and he came down hard, one hand outstretched in Draco’s direction.

Draco rolled over onto his stomach and found that his ropes were giving way. He cast them off hastily, got up on his feet, and sprinted forward, hands still touching the ground here and there, as another rope caught Harry around the waist and dragged him towards the briefcase and away from Draco.

Harry’s wand clattered to the floor and Draco grabbed it on instinct, reaching for Harry with the other hand. For a moment Draco thought he wouldn’t reach him, but then Harry’s hand was in his, sweaty and hot.

Draco concentrated on his destination with as much determination as he could and twisted – but something seemed to be tethering them to their location, making it impossible to Apparate.

Harry’s hand slipped out of his as several additional ropes took hold of him.

Then two others struck at Draco, only just missing him because he had managed to grab Harry’s hand again and was being pulled across the floor with him.

“Shield!” Draco yelled desperately.

“Can’t –” Harry pressed out, completely out of breath, “My wand!”

“ _Just let go!_ ”

There was panic in Harry’s eyes and desperation in his voice, which was barely a whisper anymore. “I can’t!”

“ _Fuck_ that, you bastard! I’m not going to Azkaban!” Draco’s voice was barely more than an animalistic snarl, but now was not the time to be considerate of Harry’s feelings. “Violet! _Now!_ ”

Then there was a flash of flight, Harry’s hand tightening around his, the air constricting around them several times.

Draco’s face was smashed against the floor. His head was spinning, but he still noticed the sound of several heavy ropes hitting the ground all at once.

Harry took a few deep, hasty breaths and then started coughing heavily. Draco groaned and pushed himself off the floor with both arms.

Harry was still lying on his stomach, so Draco turned him onto his back with massive effort. The ropes around his torso fell away, limp and unmoving, severed cleanly.

They had landed on Draco’s kitchen floor.

Draco staggered to his feet and pushed both hands inside his pockets, where his wand had been stashed, completely useless throughout the whole ordeal. He vanished the ropes instantly.

“Get up!” Draco hissed even as he leaned down to hoist Harry up. His wrist was throbbing with pain, but Draco ignored it.

Harry groaned, pushing Draco’s hands away. “Why? I just want to lie here. For a few hours.”

“No time. Won’t take long until they suspect us.”

Harry coughed again and pressed both hands against his ribs. “Then they’d need a warrant, right?”

“And how long do you think _that_ will take? Especially if Cuffe cursed that bloody thing to specifically react to that _one_ bloody code only we know?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry hissed, jumping to his feet and flinching at the impact. He was clenching his fists rapidly, his eyes moving through the room without rest. “Fuck, what do we _do_? _Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck –_ ”

Draco grabbed both his shoulders roughly and fixed him with a stern look.

“Focus! Best thing for us would be an alibi, but I doubt we can fabricate one this fast. First, we’ve got to heal each other. You’ve got rope burn all over your arms and probably your legs too. Not much use denying anything when you look like _that_.”

Harry nodded rapidly and made a grab for his sleeve. He froze in mid-motion, eyes widening.

“My wand,” he whispered. “I dropped it.”

“Yes,” Draco said drily, holding it out to him. “Fucking _idiot_ move, that.”

And then he was drawn into a bone-crushing hug that made both of them groan in pain.

“Thank God for you! I’m absolute rubbish at this.”

“Yes, you are. Now give me your Cloak, quickly.”

It was a testament to Harry’s desperation that he didn’t even question it for one moment, pulling the Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and handing it to Draco, who stuffed it between the cushions of his couch along with his own Cloak.

“Alright, our clothes are completely shredded, so we need to vanish them.”

They both did it, leaving only their underwear. Then Draco pointed his wand at Harry’s ankle, where the burns were most severe.

“And now do what I do and try not to fuck it up. _Sano!_ ”

Like that, they healed each other simultaneously. Then they put very crude glamouring charms upon each other, just enough to mask the bruises the ropes had left behind.

Not that they had much more time for anything else.

There were several loud _CRACKS_ outside.

Harry grabbed Draco’s arm instantly, a wild look in his eyes. It seemed for a second as if he was going to Apparate them, but then there was the knock on the door and the moment was gone.

“What do we _do_?” Harry hissed desperately, his wand gripped tight.

“Mr. Malfoy? This is Auror Jenkins! Open up!”

“Let me talk,” Draco hissed back. “Your Occlumency is rubbish. Just don’t say _anything_.”

Then he vanished Harry’s pants without a notice, using his startled protest to push him over onto the couch.

There was another knock, even louder this time. Harry grabbed a blanket and dragged it into his lap.

“Light a fire!” Draco whispered urgently.

Then he placed his wand on the coffee table, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He knew that it was safer not to give them any reason to attack him.

He went to the door, taking deep breaths and building up his mental walls with every step. Here was to hoping the glamour would hold.

There were six Aurors on his doorstep, and all of them were under Disillusionment Charms and dressed for combat.

Every fibre of his body wanted him to keep a calm, controlled face. For the first time in his life, Draco ignored the urge to seem aloof and let his face do what it really wanted to do – show the panic he was feeling inside.

“Auror Jenkins,” he said letting the quiver take over his voice, and crossing both arms in front of his bare chest. “Did something happen ...? _Who_ –?”

“Mr. Malfoy, how many people are inside?” Auror Jenkins eyed the hallway and stairs suspiciously.

“It’s just Harry and me – Hey!”

The Aurors dropped their Disillusionment Charms and then two of them pushed past him into the hallway before he had even ended his sentence.

“We’ve got a search warrant for both your houses,” said Jenkins sternly. She pressed a roll of parchment into his hands. “Where is he?”

“In the living room, but you _really_ shouldn’t go in there right now –”

Draco was in no way surprised when the two Aurors went down the hall immediately. Jenkins motioned for two others to go upstairs and instructed a fifth to stand guard at the front door.

Then she pointed at Draco with her non-dominant hand. “Your wand please, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I don’t have it _on_ me,” Draco said, indicating his almost naked body. “Would you _please_ tell me what happened?”

“Where do you keep your wand?”

“It’s in the living room. On the coffee table. Is somebody hurt?”

“Hansen! Secure Mr. Malfoy’s wand, please. Coffee table.”

“ _Er_ –” said the Auror, who stood frozen in the doorway, right beside his partner.

“What _is_ it?” Jenkins sounded nervous. Her eyes never left Draco’s.

“It’s a _tad_ bit problematic.”

“What do you mean, Auror Hansen?”

Hansen cleared his throat. “It’s Potter ...”

Now the guard Auror at the door was looking at Draco too, probably wondering what Draco had done to Harry.

Jenkins left him standing there, striding towards the living room. Both Aurors made way for her.

Draco followed at a more moderate pace, determined to look as non-threatening as possible, and only just caught her expression as she entered the room.

“I _told_ you,” Draco said pointedly, looking over at Harry, who glared back at him, most likely furious because three strangers were ogling him and he only had a blanket to cover himself with.

At least the fireplace was burning brightly, creating an otherwise cosy atmosphere (if you could look past the battalion of Aurors, who were – unlike them – fully clothed).

Jenkins cleared her throat now, too. “Mr. Potter, where have you been this past hour?”

Harry hitched his blanket a little higher, so that it was at least covering _part_ of his chest.

“I’ve been here. _Obviously_.”

His voice was harsh with anger, which only helped Draco’s plan along. It certainly couldn’t hurt if the Aurors feared getting on famous Harry Potter’s bad side.

“Then why are you holding your _wand_?”

It was true. Harry had obviously held onto it after he’d cast _Incendio_.

“What _else_ is he supposed to do when somebody knocks on the door in the middle of the night?” Draco asked coldly before Harry could blab and tell them that he had only just lit the fire.

“We’ve got a warrant,” said Jenkins. “And I’d like to see your wand, Mr. Potter.”

Nothing happened for a second. Harry looked over at Draco uncertainly, who nodded just the tiniest bit.

“Suit yourself,” Harry pressed out, offering it up on the palm of his hand.

Jenkins summoned both their wands and handed Draco’s to the Auror beside her. She didn’t do anything with Harry’s yet, taking time instead to scrutinise first Draco and then Harry.

“You’re both out of breath. Sweating. _Why?_ ”

“Er –” said Harry.

Draco glanced at Harry very intently and then sighed deeply, like that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Isn’t that kind of obvious?

Jenkins frowned, stared at them for another ten seconds and, when neither of them elaborated, cast Priori Incantatem at Harry’s wand, which revealed the Incendio he had cast last.

She looked at Harry again.

“Is it illegal to light a fire now?” Harry asked hotly. He crossed both arms in front of his chest in an imitation of Draco.

Jenkins didn’t answer and inspected Draco’s wand next, which showed a pair of pants disintegrating rather fabulously. Jenkins frowned and then had a look around the room. Both her male colleagues turned red.

“ _Why_ did you do that?”

Draco raised one eyebrow, which was sort of his go-to move if he wanted to mock someone. “ _Seriously?_ Heat of the moment?”

“I don’t see _any_ of your clothes,” Jenkins pressed on. “Did you vanish _them_ too?”

“I’m sorry,” said Draco, voice dripping ice. “But how is that _your_ business?”

“Seems unreasonable. A complete waste.”

“Well, I bloody well wasn’t thinking with my _brain_ when I did it. And now I would greatly appreciate it if you could stop questioning us on our sex life and bloody well get on with your search, if you must. And if you would please explain why you’re even here, that would be appreciated as well.”

“Somebody broke into the Prophet’s headquarters about quarter of an hour ago.” Jenkins turned back to Harry. “Several people pointed us in your direction, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh, it’s _‘Potter’_ now, is it, _Carys_?”

Harry actually got up now, securing Draco’s blanket around his waist with both hands. He somehow managed to look intimidating even when he was half-naked.

Jenkins cleared her throat anxiously. “This is an investigation. I’m being professional.”

Harry laughed quite humourlessly. “ _Are_ you? Because it looks to _me_ like you’re being highly inappropriate right now. Does it look like I broke into a building fifteen minutes ago?”

“You’ve got a motive.”

“Well, then I’d have to break in there every other day, wouldn’t I?”

Draco wished there were a way to tell Harry to stop talking, but the Aurors were sure to notice. Jenkins perked up at his answer.

“And you _did_ break in there before, isn’t that right?”

Harry squared his jaw and pressed out, “I didn’t break in. It was _open_. I visited.”

“You shattered the front door –”

“Accidentally!”

“– and intimidated Cuffe.”

Ah, so they _had_ heard about that. Well, at least sort of. Nobody had approached them about it before now.

“HE DESERVED IT, CARYS! HE’S RUINING MY LIFE!”

Harry’s outburst was sudden, but not that unexpected.

What Draco _hadn’t_ anticipated was Harry overturning his coffee table in an attempt at pushing it out of his way.

Both Aurors pointed their wands at Harry instantly as he stomped over to Jenkins. She raised a hand and held her ground as Harry got right up in her face.

“You come here, in the middle of the night, _expose_ me like this and then _dare_ accuse me? And for what? Because somebody broke into Cuffe’s office? _Get out!_ Come back when you want to suspect me of fucking murdering somebody.”

Harry was heaving, the blanket hanging dangerously low.

Draco’s heart had dropped into his gut. There was a horrible second during which Harry was quite oblivious of his slip-up, and Jenkins said nothing, just frowning down at him, mouth opened just an inch.

Then she glanced at both her partners, who didn’t seem to have noticed anything besides the obvious rage, and then at Draco, who didn’t have to use Legilimency to see that she had noticed it too – _‘Cuffe’s office’_.

She looked away instantly and turned her attention back to Harry, clearing her throat.

And then she said the last thing Draco was expecting: “You’re right. Please accept my sincerest apology. There’s simply no way you could’ve been in Diagon Alley just twenty minutes ago.”

And then she handed their wands back to them and gestured for her Aurors to leave the room.

“We’re packing up. Hansen, get the rest of the team. Carson, send a Patronus to Mulberry, tell him there’s nobody inside Grimmauld Place and no need to search it.”

Jenkins stopped at the front door and looked back at Harry thoughtfully. “One last question. Do you know somebody called Violet?”

“Violet?” Harry’s voice was awfully thin.

Draco stepped in before Harry could give away anything else. “Like Violet Slate? The Bats’ Captain?”

Jenkins was still looking at Harry, maybe to watch his reaction. “I don’t know. Are you friends with Violet Slate?”

Harry actually laughed. “She broke three of my ribs last year. Would you say that makes her a friend?”

The Aurors were gone not a minute later, leaving Harry and Draco standing in the hallway.

“Merlin,” Harry whispered, rewrapping his blanket with trembling hands. “I nearly died just now.”

“You are a bloody fucking idiot, Potter!” Draco muttered, “So much for your brilliant and, dare I say, _non-existent_ plan. And so much for shutting the fuck up and letting _me_ do the talking.”


	68. Are You Ready for This? [Sunday, April 16th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments are pure gold! 😊 Thank you guys so much: Rionaa, OfAMind, allhailthehales, filidoune, XOX_Eternity_XOX, Icedmochalester, Fujoshidesukara, ThatBoringOne, Superfan1224, Queeniecupcake, SHkatty, Zezily, Justforthedead, Hodgies, Fan, Anonymous and minijaxter!
> 
> Let’s see what you think about this one. 😉
> 
> Title: Taylor Swift - … Ready for it? (Sort of)

For the first time in three weeks, Draco wasn’t the centre of attention.

This was due, in part, to the fact that he was invisible, though he guessed it had even more to do with Ron wearing his Cannons hat, which clashed horribly with his hair and went even worse with his Falcons scarf.

What was more, they were currently watching the players do warm-ups from the Falcons’ stands.

“Do you have to wear that thing here?” Hermione whispered, giving Ron a critical look right through Draco, who was wedged between them (so nobody would try to sit on him).

Ron (whose ears were almost crimson and probably very hot – Draco wasn’t going to check) pointed a finger at Hermione and nearly stabbed Draco in the eye, who barely managed to slap his hand away in time.

“Oh, sorry, mate,” Ron muttered and then went back to giving Hermione an accusing look. “Hermione, you can’t expect me to turn cloak that easily. It’s bad enough I’m even sitting here.”

“I’d say,” said Draco silently.

Not that he understood where Ron was coming from, since his team wasn’t even playing. It seemed that it was unethical for a Cannons supporter to cheer on any other team ever, even if his family members played for said teams?

Ron bumped his shoulder in protest. “You’d better _support_ me on this, mate. You don’t want my hand to slip and accidentally snatch on your Cloak, do you?”

“ _Ron!_ ” said Hermione in her most bossy voice. “You’re here to support Harry, so would you please _act_ like it?”

Ron muttered something under his breath, but turned to face the pitch again.

The players were just touching down and returning to their changing rooms for their last-minute check-up.

“Does Harry seem _down_ to you?” Hermione asked while she watched him drag his feet across the grass.

“He didn’t sleep that well,” Draco muttered.

Which was an understatement, considering that it had taken Draco almost a whole minute to wake Harry from his nightmare. He’d been curled up into a ball, groaning and clutching his chest. The curse scar had been burning.

Draco had given him Dreamless Sleep after that, but only half a vial to ensure he wouldn’t miss the game. Harry had been awake again two hours later.

“How is he?” Hermione lowered her voice too, glancing around to check that nobody was listening.

Draco thought about it for a second. “It’s mostly alright. Well, when we are in private. And as long as nobody writes about us. I tried to tell him not to read it, but Samantha sends all of it and well ...”

“Doesn’t _sound_ alright,” said Hermione worriedly.

“ _No_ ,” Draco agreed. “No, I guess he’s not.”

“We’ve been trying to get him to see a Mind Healer for years,” Hermione muttered. “But he just pretends that everything’s fine.”

“George says his Healer really helped him after ... you know.” Ron was still staring at the empty pitch.

“It’s not going to happen,” Draco said glumly. “He wouldn’t trust some random Healer with his issues. _Especially_ not after that quack tried to psychoanalyse him in that Witch Weekly article last year.”

Nobody said anything for the next few minutes. There wasn’t really anything that could be said. They’d just have to do their best to keep Harry from falling apart on their own.

Things started going downhill as soon as Healer Penelope Sanders stepped onto the pitch in her grey scrubs with the Falcon on the front. Fans from both sides jumped to their feet and cheered her on, while the Tornados’ Healer, Arthur Lyster, was already sitting on his bench, completely unheeded by the spectators.

Now Draco was _really_ glad he was wearing the Cloak and wouldn’t have to look at the expression on his own face in the papers tomorrow.

“Can’t tell you how relieved I am that Greyson _finally_ got rid of the Death Eater,” said a witch at the front of the stands. Draco thought he recognised her as Flynn Montgomery’s sister.

Ron tensed beside him and Draco grabbed his arm automatically.

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard _that_ , but the means were usually less personal. He was used to reading about his shortcomings in the press or maybe the post (at least until Samantha had taken over). Most of the time, there wasn’t a face to picture alongside these words.

But then Cassidy Sax, who was one of the Falcons’ Reserve Beaters, turned to the witch and said, “Malfoy was a really great Healer, though. Besides, he saved Harry’s life, right?”

But the witch just gave her a harsh look. “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that it was all a ploy to get close to him. Maybe somebody should check to see if Potter is under the influence of love potion.”

Draco only realised he’d let go of Ron’s arm when both he and Hermione grabbed one of Draco’s arms from either side, keeping him on his seat.

“It’s just talk,” Hermione whispered without looking in his direction. “Anyone with half a brain knows that’s a stupid thing to suggest. For one, you wouldn’t keep _insulting_ each other if that were true.”

“Great, maybe you can tell them about that so they can start speculating if I’m blackmailing him instead.”

“Don’t be stupid, mate,” said Ron. He didn’t offer any reasons why Draco shouldn’t.

But then it was time and Draco didn’t get another chance to be upset about it – Bagman announced first the Tornados and then the Falcons, and people cheered for Harry as usual. Figured that they wouldn’t blame only _him_ for their relationship.

The game was messy.

The Tornados seemed to have picked up a thing or two from Puddlemere and were obviously taunting Harry, whose heart wasn’t exactly in it as it was. He seemed distracted and lost in thought, and more than once he flinched when somebody or something rushed past him.

He also kept glancing in their direction whenever he passed the Falcons’ stands. Greyson kept yelling at him from there, though Draco doubted Harry could really hear it.

And then, only fifteen minutes into the match, it happened – Timothy McCarthy, the Tornados’ Seeker, flew past Harry, shouting something, and Harry turned his broom around in an instant and shot after him.

The crowd seemed to be sure that McCarthy had unwisely pointed out the Snitch, and the cheering picked up a notch. Draco had watched Harry play countless times and knew that wasn’t it.

Harry’s eyes were fixed on McCarthy, and he wasn’t flattening himself on his broom to fly faster. His legs seemed tense, and when he took both hands off his broom, they weren’t outstretched but balled into fists.

“ _Oh no_ ,” Draco whispered in horror.

Harry jumped.

He collided with McCarthy, knocking him off his broom. They hadn’t been high up, only a few feet above the ground, but the impact was still audible all the way up in the stands.

McCarthy landed flat on his back. Harry managed to land his fall by doing one of Lauren’s judo rolls, coming to rest on one knee.

“Merlin’s underpants!” Bagman’s magnified voice exclaimed. “Potter fouls McCarthy. If you ask me, that was a clear case of Blatching! Yes, the referee is awarding the Tornados three penalties. And – now, that’s _clearly_ excessive punishment!”

Harry had just gotten to his feet and snapped something at Healer Sanders, when the referee landed next to him and slashed her wand at him in a crisscross motion that left red sparks hanging in front of him.

Harry threw his broom on the ground and stomped off the pitch, to the crowd’s thunderous protest. He stormed by Timothy McCarthy and his Healer. Both of them flinched as if they feared Harry would attack them again, but he just glared at McCarthy murderously and vanished into the changing rooms.

“It seems that Potter is suspended for the next three matches.” Bagman sounded numb, like this personally affected him.

Draco watched as the referee shielded herself with a Protego against the odds and ends that the crowd was throwing at her. Even some of the Tornados’ fans seemed to disagree with her decision to ban Harry from playing for what amounted to three whole months. One of them got marched off for aiming a spell at her that looked very much like a curse.

“Let’s go,” said Hermione. She was very pale.

It took them a while to squeeze their way down the stairs as a fairly large number of people seemed to have decided to leave the game in protest. Still others were apparently trying to go down to storm the pitch.

Draco just cast a strong repelling charm on himself to keep people from bumping into him, invisible as he was, and muscled through.

He couldn’t just sneak his way into the changing rooms, because somebody had decided to place a security wizard at the entrance. It wasn’t a problem. He recognised Hermione and Ron instantly and let them through without a question. Draco took off the Cloak as soon as they were inside.

They went down the corridor together, but the other two stopped short a few feet from the door.

“We’ll be waiting outside,” said Hermione carefully.

Ron looked like he wanted to protest, but one look from her silenced him effectively. They continued down the corridor and left through the back.

Harry was not alone – he was currently engaged in a very harsh sounding conversation with the Falcons’ assistant coach, David. Greyson was clearly needed outside as his team was now forced to continue the match without a Seeker.

“– mean it! Matt will be furious if you just leave.”

“The way I see it, he’ll be furious anyway.”

Harry practically ripped his robes off and flung them in the general direction of the laundry basket. He stuffed his gloves into his bag and then nearly ripped off the zipper.

Then he growled, “I don’t exactly fancy twirling my thumbs and waiting until he has time to kick me out.”

“He won’t –”

“ _Of course_ he will!”

Draco leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He didn’t even need to clear his throat to get their attention. Harry’s eyes snapped to his in a second. David seemed to notice that somebody had joined them and turned around to look at him.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, still not sure what he even came here to say. Words alone didn’t seem to suffice.

“Oh, don’t you even start!” Harry hissed, shouldering his bag and crossing the room.

“Start what?” Draco’s voice was even and free from emotion. He didn’t move to let Harry pass.

“You’re here to tell me off. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m here to ask you what the hell you were thinking.”

Harry dropped his bag so he could cross his own arms, a sour look on his face. “I was _thinking_ that I don’t like it when people insult my boyfriend to my face.”

Draco was unimpressed. “So what? People insult me all the time. You’ll have to get used to it.”

“I refuse to _‘get used to it’_! They’re wrong about you, alright?”

“So, what, you attempt to _murder_ them?”

Harry hadn’t expected him to be that mad about it – Draco could see it in the way he squared his jaw and clenched his fists.

“I wasn’t going to kill him! He’s _fine_!”

“No thanks to you.”

“I just snapped, okay? He said some nasty things and I blew a fuse. Sorry if you got your knickers in a twist over it, but it’s done now. Can we forget about it and go home now?”

“You’re such a pig-headed moron, Potter. No sane person throws themself from their broom because somebody was mean to them! You’re lucky neither of you broke their neck.”

Harry groaned and shoved both hands into his windblown hair, rolling his eyes at him in the process. “Quit playing the drama queen, Draco. This is my job, not yours.”

“You just got _suspended_ from your job! If that’s not a clear sign that you did something wrong, I don’t know _what_ is!”

“Fine!” Harry was almost shouting now. “I fucked up, are you happy? You really should be used to it by now!”

“I’m not happy! I’m _horrified!_ ” Draco couldn’t hold up his calm facade any longer and threw both hands into the air. His voice certainly wasn’t cool and even anymore. “You risk your neck to teach somebody a lesson because he said something mean about me? That’s not normal behaviour!”

“So what?” Harry shouted. “Want me to see a shrink about it?”

“You know _what_ , Harry?” Draco’s voice broke slightly and he took a few short breaths before he continued in a much colder voice, “I’m really not sure if this relationship is good for you.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped in an instant. His hands weren’t in fists anymore but flexing nervously. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m calling it. We’re not together anymore. I’m sick of everybody sneering at me and threatening me because I stole away their Golden Boy to corrupt him, or whatever they think I’m doing! And I certainly can’t watch you throw away your career and reputation and Merlin knows what else. One – or _both_ – of us are going to end up in Azkaban if we keep going like this!”

He’d have had more to say if they had been alone – about punching people in the face, about breaking into offices, about nightmares that only got worse with every article, with every insult or judging look.

“You don’t mean that.”

Harry was searching his face frantically, but Draco didn’t offer him anything to hang on to. Draco’s lips were set firmly, eyebrows drawn together. He couldn’t show a flicker of doubt now, even if his heart was breaking right in front of him.

“I _do_ mean it.”

Draco turned around then, his composure failing rapidly. He had to get away fast. He passed the door and nearly collided with the Falcons, who stood frozen in the hallway.

“Game was cancelled ...,” said Florence Mills, clearly uncomfortable. “Referee got hit with a curse.”

Draco just nodded shortly and then pushed past them before he lost it completely. He knew they were looking after him as he fled.

His necklace burned hot, but Draco just ripped it off his neck and stuffed it into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know what happened either. 🙄


	69. What Breaks a Heart [Monday, May 1st 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous, Superfan1224, AilurusMel, noodledoodlezoo, night, Slytherinz_Ghost, Shmegz, linellin, disaster, Ann, SimplySomeone, Lulabelle, Wynterfox, Gallavich_endgame_2934, Justforthedead, Fujoshidesukara, powderbleu, burninglikeacid, Fan, windowcracks, Zezily, filidoune, ThatBoringOne, IzzyShep, Jessynotjessie, Rionaa, illindalenti, Icedmochalester, AlluraBelle, EmmaGraceWinchester, Sandal, Mystical.Moose and SHkatty! 😊🤗😊
> 
> Thanks for all your keyboard smashing! 🥰 Appreciate it so much!
> 
> So, it’s come to my attention that I may have hurt your feelings a tiny bit. Let’s see if I can make it better, alright? 😊
> 
> Title: Parachute - What Breaks My Heart

Draco pointed his wand at the young wizard in front of him. The boy, sixteen years old, was looking up at him with tears in his eyes, which were already red from crying so damn much.

Draco thought he looked pretty pathetic.

“ _Costa emendo_ ,” Draco said placidly, barely moving his wand.

There was a crack and then a loud scream. Unreasonably loud. Entirely unnecessary.

Harry (no: _Potter_ ) had once broken more than half his ribs and he hadn’t made such a scene. He had just played macho and gritted his teeth so hard that Draco thought his jaw might shatter. And the only thing running down his cheeks had been some blood from his head wound.

H- … Potter (!) probably would have spontaneously combusted if he had cried in public. They were pretty much alike when it came to showing emotions in public.

Well, Draco handled his anger a little more elegantly than Potter.

Draco sighed and put away his wand to dictate some instructions to his clipboard. He glanced at the clock and sighed some more.

He had made it three whole minutes before thinking of Potter again. He’d expected more of himself. The Trauma Ward was stuffed and loud, his thoughts really shouldn’t be straying that much.

He wished somebody would come in with something worse than broken bones. A severed spine, for example. That had kept him occupied for hours when Harry ( _Potter_ , not Harry, damn it!) had had it.

And now it seemed Draco couldn’t even make it more than a few seconds. He needed a distraction, stat!

“You can go,” Draco said, not even looking up from his clipboard.

He was scanning the list for something interesting, maybe even challenging. There was a witch whose arm had apparently been bitten off by an undisclosed pet, but just as Draco was about to touch her name with his wand, Nash’s initials blossomed beside it. Damn it!

“ _Leave_ ,” Draco drawled because the boy was still very much there. He seemed frozen to the bed.

Draco turned around and strode over to the Welcome Witch. She usually had more information on the patients, inside knowledge that wasn’t on the admissions list.

“Please tell me you have something good,” Draco said, slapping his clipboard on the counter. He briefly debated slapping his forehead right next to it. “I need something else.”

“There’s an MMM in bed number thirteen,” she said with a derogatory look over there. “He even asked for you specifically.”

Draco frowned down at his clipboard. “He’s not on here.”

The Welcome Witch just shrugged. “Wouldn’t give me a name or tell me what the Muggles did to him. He must’ve slipped my mind. Oops.”

But she didn’t seem very sorry about that. The wizard had probably given her attitude. Draco didn’t want to know how long he had been waiting already.

“Here’s to hoping that’s not another crazy fanatic,” Draco muttered, taking his wand out of its pocket as a precaution.

The Welcome Witch gave him a look that was either compassionate or bored. It was kind of hard to tell with her.

Draco took his time strolling over to bed number thirteen.

The wizard was average in every regard. He had average blond hair, an average face, average body, average clothes. He was one of those people you forgot almost immediately after meeting them.

Which was just the type of person Draco would send to attack himself. The wizard was also notably uninjured as far as Draco could tell. Even more suspicious.

It seemed that, in the public eye, being Harry Potter’s ex-boyfriend was almost as bad as being his boyfriend.

News had broken just a day after the match and there had been three incidents already:

A batty old witch had tried to stab him with her knitting needles last week. Fortunately for him, the needles had been blunt and the witch slow and weak, which had made it easy to disarm her.

Then, the day after that, there had been a little girl called Hermione, who had bitten him while he healed her dislocated shoulder. Ungrateful brat.

And the strangest of all was the teenage witch who had doused him in love potion just yesterday. Draco was lucky that the potion wasn’t adsorbed through the skin. He was also lucky that a cut-up autograph of Harry ( _Potter, Potter!_ ) wasn’t a suitable ingredient to make Draco fall back in love with him.

Not that the potion would have done much difference. Draco not loving Harry was the one issue their relationship hadn’t had.

And there he went thinking of Harry again. He hadn’t even made it three minutes this time. This was just pathetic.

He prayed that the wizard really _was_ an MMM (Muggle medical malpractice) in need of healing. He’d heard that Muggle doctors sometimes put _metal_ inside a person. That would certainly be interesting.

“So, what did the Muggles do to you?” Draco asked cautiously as he reached the bed. He gripped his wand tight.

“ _Finally_ ,” the wizard groaned.

A relieved look spread across his face and the curtains closed around them on their own, though both of the wizard’s hands were quite empty. The right arm was crossed in front of his stomach. The left was buried in his hair.

Great. Just what had been missing for Draco’s day to get really shitty.

“Potter. Make it quick, will you?” Draco put away his wand and crossed his arms in front of his chest while Potter grimaced.

“Draco,” Potter said pleadingly. “This whole thing is stupid. You’ve made your point; can we please get back together now?”

Draco raised an eyebrow and said, “I don’t think you _get_ my point.”

“You think people hate you – which is stupid – and that I do stupid things because of it. But I’ve always done stupid things, right?”

“They do hate me,” Draco said, even though that wasn’t the reason, of course. “They hate seeing us together.”

“Well, I hate people,” Potter said, which was obviously true. “And _you_ were the one who told me not to care about what people say! What happened to that?”

With a little pang of guilt, Draco thought about all the articles they had written about him and Potter, first the outraged ones and then the cheerful ones (the latter exclusively after their break-up). He couldn’t pretend that they hadn’t bothered him, that they hadn’t made his blood boil in cold fury.

“It doesn’t matter. We are not good for each other.”

“We are at our best together,” Potter disagreed.

“Oh? Is that why you fucking _jumped from your broom_?”

“He barely got hurt,” Potter said shortly, clenching his left fist.

“You got suspended for three games. That’s quarter a season,” Draco said irritably. “Who knows if Greyson will let you play again?”

“I don’t care about Quidditch! I care about _you_!”

Delusional.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned on the spot. Arguing with that idiot was entirely useless. He barely managed to open the curtain an inch before it slipped through his fingers and slid shut again.

“I still need your help,” Potter pressed out.

He was shaking (probably from anger) and barely managed to pull the glamour over his head one-handedly.

Draco groaned.

The whole right side of Potter’s face was black and blue, as was his arm. At least the part of it that Draco could see. The lower part of it was bandaged excessively, making it appear twice as thick. The sleeve of his shirt had been cut open at the side and it was quite dirty and also somewhat bloodied.

Scratch that – it wasn’t Potter’s shirt after all. He was wearing _Draco’s_ favourite shirt! The bastard.

Draco was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to cry. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t sixteen anymore and there was not a single wailing ghost in sight.

Draco reached for Potter’s face and then thought better of it at the last second. He prodded the bandages instead to see what they were made of. They were quite solid.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, inspecting the way Potter’s hand was poking out of it.

“A cast,” Potter said as if that were obvious.

“Why is your arm in it?”

“Because it’s broken.”

“And?”

“They had to immobilise it. To keep the bones from shifting.”

“Potter, why did a _Muggle_ treat your broken arm?” Draco asked with a sigh. “You know your way ‘round here.”

“I was with Olivia and Lauren,” Potter said. He turned his arm around carefully to reveal their scribbled signatures on the side of it.

“You let two lesbians bandage your broken arm?” Draco asked in bewilderment. He didn’t quite know why he included the lesbian part, but if anybody was allowed to, it was him for sure.

“Are you nuts?” Potter rolled his eyes. “I let a doctor do it. They just took me to the hospital.”

“Why didn’t you come _here?!_ ”

“They wouldn’t let me go alone. Besides, I couldn’t very well leave and come back completely healed, could I?”

“You could have modified their memories.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that. They’re my _friends_.”

“Then why did you come here after all?”

“I can’t train with a broken arm. I thought I could just keep the bruises and put my arm in a sling whenever I meet them.”

If Potter thought Draco would just heal him and let him be on his way, he was wrong. Draco wanted an explanation, even if it was sure to make him wish he hadn’t asked.

“What happened?”

“Fell down some stairs,” Potter said immediately.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And really?”

Potter narrowed his eyes. “It’s true, I swear.”

“Fine,” Draco said shortly. “Then there’s more to it. _Why_ did you fall?”

“Maybe I was a little drunk.”

Draco kept his eyes on him and stayed silent. Potter hated silence.

“And it is possible that somebody may have pushed me,” Potter mumbled.

He kept his eyes fixed on a scorch mark on the curtain (probably one of his own) and wouldn’t meet Draco’s.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Draco,” said Potter sourly. “Maybe he thought it was an appropriate reaction to being punched in the face.”

“ _Did_ you punch him in the face?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

Draco rolled his eyes really hard and refrained from asking for a reason.

“ _This_ is entirely my point, Potter. You can’t just go around assaulting people because they looked at you funny. This is not healthy behaviour. You are out of control.”

“Where is all of this _coming_ from all of a sudden?” Potter asked harshly.

“ _Sudden_?” Draco knew his face was slipping, but there was nothing he could do about it. “Have you been paying attention this last month? Do you know why I still have a job after what happened with Cuffe? Because I have dirt on Cortez. _That’s_ the reason, _nothing_ else.”

“ _You_ didn’t do anything to him!”

“I was there, I didn’t stop you.”

“They can’t fire you for that!”

“No,” hissed Draco. “They wouldn’t fire _you_ for that. They probably wouldn’t even really punish you for breaking into Cuffe’s office. The only reason _I_ am not in Azkaban right now is that Auror Jenkins seems to have a soft spot for you. And luck. So, so much luck.”

Harry was grinding his teeth, but he didn’t respond. Figured.

Draco shook his head and leaned forward to get a better look at the bruises. Some of them were turning rather interesting colours already.

“These are at least three days old, Potter,” he said reproachfully.

He knew for a fact that this injury hadn’t seen any arnica, even though there still should be more than enough at Grimmauld Place. Draco wasn’t even surprised.

“So?”

“So, you broke your arm days ago and _now_ you come here?”

Potter just shrugged and tugged at a strand of hair. “I didn’t get around to it before now.”

“You’re _obviously_ still wearing the same clothes,” Draco observed. “Don’t tell me you were too busy to change or shower.”

Potter held his gaze determinedly but didn’t say anything.

Draco doubted that he had left his house after he had come back from the Muggle hospital. None of his friends would have allowed him to run around like that, ragged and dirty. He’d probably been wallowing in self-pity.

Draco cut away the cast to have a better look at his arm.

“Try again. Why didn’t you come here earlier?”

Potter took a deep breath, still looking at him defiantly. “ _Fine._ I waited until I knew you were on duty. Satisfied?”

“I’ve never been less satisfied. You look like a homeless person.”

“That’s what the glamour is for,” Potter said, like that changed anything.

Draco slapped Potter’s arm with his wand without a warning. Potter inhaled sharply but was silent aside from that. Draco wordlessly checked him for additional injuries.

“Essence of arnica three times a day. You can get back to flying in a week. I’ll send an owl to Greyson.”

“One week?!” Potter protested. “You just healed my arm, didn’t you?”

“A: That bone is still fragile for a while, as I told you a million times already. B: Your shoulder is contused. Since you insist on keeping your bruises, you’ll have to sit that one out. C: It’s not as if you’ll miss any games, is it? You might remember that you are suspended.”

Draco saw Potter’s wand slip into his left hand. He was still caught in the decision whether to dodge or cast a Protego when Potter let his wand drop onto the blanket.

“Do you want to come by later to talk?” he asked instead.

“No,” Draco said, adding a note to his chart to keep himself distracted from the temptation.

“ _Please._ You can just Apparate inside, it’s still open.”

“There’s nothing more to talk about, Potter.”

“Then come by to not talk.”

Potter was looking up at him with his stupid, stupid eyes. Draco had to look away to keep himself from dipping into the inviting green depths. He already had a pretty good idea what Potter had in mind even without using Legilimency.

It was entirely unfair to offer something like that – Potter knew that he was weak. Which was why Draco couldn’t give in. He would not be manipulated by the Golden Boy. He had already let him get away with too much.

“There’s nothing you can offer me,” Draco said as coldly as he could manage.

Potter looked crestfallen for a second, but then he squared his shoulders (and also his jaw, because his shoulder must’ve hurt like a bitch) and got to his feet.

“Fine. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Potter put on his glamour. The curtains burst open and then he was gone.

Draco looked at the clock. The next round of trying to avoid thinking about Potter was starting right now. Draco wasn’t feeling particularly confident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this better? 😊


	70. Blood is Thicker [Saturday, May 13th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks go to: Justforthedead, Mystical.Moose, Fan, linellin, allhailthehales, Anonymous, SHkatty, Slytherinz_Ghost, disaster, Anilanna_prongsie, IzzyShep, windowcracks, You_Wish, EmmaGraceWinchester, kylorrren, burninglikeacid, ThatBoringOne, filidoune, Elly_dk and Rionaa! <3
> 
> Alright, no more misleading notes. 😉 Also, I’m really sorry for breaking your tender little hearts! Would you forgive me if I gave you two chapters (of pure pain) today? 😊

Somebody was knocking at his door. Actually _knocking_ , like he didn’t have a doorbell.

Draco turned over so he was facing the back of the couch and pulled the pillow over his head. Whoever it was, he wasn’t interested. But even though the pillow blocked out most sounds, he could still hear Aurelius barking, which told him that the knocking was probably still going on.

Maybe he should just cast a Muffliato. But his wand was lying on the coffee table, which meant it could just as well have been lying on Neptune. Also, Muffliato was one of Harry’s favourite spells and ... _well_.

And there he went thinking about him again. Calling him Harry. Draco had thought of him as Potter for thirteen years – it shouldn’t be so hard going back to that.

Somebody cleared their throat right beside him and Draco flinched.

He turned around, heart racing, and saw the least likely person standing in the exact middle of his sitting room, as if she was trying not to touch anything.

“ _Mother_?”

Draco sat up slowly. The pillow fell to the floor and Draco gathered it up quickly, placing it on the couch as neatly as possible.

Narcissa looked him up and down, eyes lingering on his hair, which was probably a mess, and his sweater, which was actually the one Harry had lent him their first Christmas together. There also was dog hair all over it, because he had found Aurelius curled up on it.

Fine, Draco had a weak moment. But he really was _trying_ , alright?

“Draco,” she finally said, clearly unimpressed.

“What are you doing here?” Draco pulled down the bottom of his sweater in an attempt to straighten it at least a little bit. He stopped when another thing came to mind. “How did you get _in_?”

“Your _dog_ let me in,” answered Narcissa, making it sound like a filthy word.

Draco looked over to find Aurelius sitting in the kitchen area, holding one of Draco’s shoes in his mouth like he was waiting for Draco to get up and leave with the visitor.

Narcissa was looking around too, a look of distaste on her face that only deepened when she caught sight of his fridge. Draco used the distraction to sort out his hair, which wasn’t that easy if you didn’t have a mirror at hand.

“Mother, how did you get my address?”

She looked down at him, tall and regal as ever, and said, as if it were obvious, “The Malfoys _do_ still have connections at the Ministry, Draco. Your father simply asked.”

“Naturally,” said Draco. He took a deep breath to calm himself and then gestured at one of the arm chairs. “Do you want to sit down, Mother?”

She hesitated for a second, taking stock of his furniture, and then smiled politely. “I’d rather not.”

Something inside Draco was starting to crack, but he still returned the gesture and said, as pleasantly as he could be, “Mother, why are you here?”

He doubted it was just so she could belittle his furniture.

For a good ten seconds she didn’t answer and only looked at him with a raised brow.

It was a power play Draco knew well enough; one he’d employed many times himself. Which was why it was all the more _infuriating_ to be on the receiving end now. Draco forced himself to stay still, not to fidget, to let the silence grow.

It was an immense relief when she finally spoke. “Draco, _this_ isn’t what we fought for.”

He knew that, of course. The Malfoys hadn’t fought a war on the wrong side just for him to turn around and decide he wanted to live with _Muggles_ after all.

But then Narcissa went on, and it wasn’t what he’d thought she would say. “We didn’t defy the Dark Lord so you could turn your back on us. We did it to save our family, to ensure that the bloodline continues.”

“Mother, what are you saying? _What_ do you want me to do?”

“I have come to make you an offer. Come home. Take your place as a Malfoy.”

“And marry _Astoria Greengrass_?” said Draco coldly.

Mother shook her head slightly. “Astoria is long gone. But that’s no reason to worry. I am certain there will be others who would be willing –”

“Willing to marry a homosexual former _Death Eater_?”

She closed her eyes for a second, like the sight of him was too much for her to bear. “We mustn’t talk about that, Draco.”

“Why _not_?” asked Draco. “Everybody knows it’s true. They’re still writing about it.”

Narcissa closed her eyes again, shaking her head as if she could deny the truth of his statement.

“You had your _phase_ , Draco. You ignored our advice and did what you wanted to do. Look what it brought on you.”

She turned around to take another look at his kitchen, which admittedly wasn’t in the best state right now. There was a whole stack of Muggle fashion and interior design magazines spread across his kitchen table, which had been his main source of distraction the last few days.

He couldn’t busy himself with his scar research, because ... well, _obviously_.

He _certainly_ couldn’t read any gossip magazines, be they Muggle or magic.

He didn’t want to _see_ anybody, least of all Blaise, who was way too close to all the Weasleys and probably saw _him_ regularly.

So, Draco mainly spent his free time browsing through his neighbour Mrs. Maloney’s old magazines and eating dry cornflakes straight out of the box, because _Harry_ had made him get rid of all the other convenience products and Draco didn’t feel like getting take-out. Or mixing with _people_ in general.

He reckoned he had enough cornflakes to get him through at least three more days, given his low appetite at the moment.

“I like my life like it is,” said Draco defiantly.

He tried not to think about the fact that, more often than not, he ended up sleeping on the couch, fully clothed, because he just couldn’t motivate himself enough to get up when the time came.

“Draco, don’t be foolish. You can’t live like this.”

“ _Watch_ me,” said Draco, realising only after he’d said it that this sounded decidedly more like Harry than him.

Draco had never _once_ talked to his mother like that, not even when his parents had disowned him.

The temperature seemed to drop suddenly. Mother drew herself up to full height and regarded him with a look that was completely devoid of any expression.

“I see now the damage has already been done. But I must implore you, Draco. Think about what you’re doing with your life. And if you come to your senses, return home.”

She patted down her travel robes (implying they’d somehow gotten dirty simply by being in his house), gave him one final, almost desperate smile that came out of nowhere and shook him to his core, and left.

Draco didn’t attempt to stop her or accompany her to the door, which shut audibly a few seconds later.

Aurelius came over and dropped the shoe at his feet with a low whine.

Then he placed his head in Draco’s lap, who patted him absentmindedly and muttered, “Thanks a lot for _that_ , Lee. If anything, you’re a _disservice_ dog.”

As usual, Aurelius had nothing to say for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you want to recommend any more break-up songs, I’m open for suggestions! Personally, I’m on 11 Blocks by Wrabel right now 😉


	71. Same Old Spot, But I’m On My Own [Wednesday, May 17th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting: night, Elly_dk, Zezily, You_Wish, burninglikeacid, disaster, Rionaa, ThatBoringOne, Slytherinz_Ghost, EmmaGraceWinchester, Gallavich_endgame_2934, noodledoodlezoo, SimplySomeone, zarahzoe, Zezily, Fandomwarriorqueen, mywaywardsin, filidoune, windowcracks, Fan and Anonymous! 😘
> 
> Thanks for the song recs! I listened to all of them and added two of them to my library! 😊
> 
> Also, it’s so nice to hear your opinions (and experiences) on the whole matter! My best friend was going through some similar issues while I was writing this, and some of it just seeped into the story.
> 
> So, I could say that this chapter is better, but that would be lying, and we said we weren’t doing that anymore, right?
> 
> Title: Wrabel – 11 Blocks

Draco had never liked grocery shopping.

The first time he had set foot in a supermarket had been some months after his parents had disowned him.

Blaise had let him live at his estate at first, but that hadn’t been a permanent solution. Their friendship suffered severely whenever they were penned up together, and besides, Draco hated being dependent on him.

He had found a house he could pay off on his Healer’s wage and moved. He had been kind of excited to finally live on his own, especially in a place where nobody would come looking for him.

Unfortunately, the house didn’t come with a full pantry or house-elves to do the shopping.

Draco generally tried to stay away from wizarding places as much as possible and therefore avoided the markets in Diagon Alley, even if they had pre-cooked meals you only needed to tap with your wand.

He had been delighted to find out that Muggle supermarkets carried convenience products as well. Well, he had been excited _at first_. Then he had found out that those called for all kinds of special household appliances, most of which needed electricity. But eventually he had worked out what he could and could not buy.

So yes, Draco had never liked grocery shopping.

Then there had been Potter, who simply loved it, and Draco had been enthralled by him. Buying ingredients was way more fun if you had somebody by your side who knew how to make all those things edible.

He had even looked forward to their spontaneous shopping tours, which mostly happened when Draco’s house was missing a crucial ingredient. Which had been often.

And now here he was again. Staring at a box of spaghetti and thinking of the pasta machine that Potter had smuggled into Draco’s house at one point.

There was also a copy of Potter’s cookery book at Draco’s place, even with the spells scribbled beside the recipes, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to open it. And even if he could, what would be the point? It probably wouldn’t taste nearly as good as Potter’s cooking.

He should just return the stupid thing along with the contents of Potter’s dresser drawer. That and the Invisibility Cloak. It had been a present, sure, but it still felt wrong to keep it now. Potter would probably want to give it to his next partner.

Well, at least Draco didn’t have to settle for boxed spaghetti today – he wasn’t really hungry anymore.

He put his empty shopping basket on the ground and turned around, running straight into Olivia. Lauren barely managed to grab her by the shoulders.

“ _Draco!_ ” Olivia said brightly, apparently not caring that Draco had almost knocked her over. She hugged him briefly but enthusiastically. “What a coincidence!”

“Is it, though?” Draco asked suspiciously. Their apartment wasn’t exactly around the corner.

“‘Course it is,” Lauren said matter-of-factly. “Or do you think we’re stalking you?”

“Didn’t you two stalk somebody in a supermarket before?”

“David Beckham!” Olivia said eagerly.

“Or so Liv thought,” Lauren added.

“Who?”

The girls seemed lost for words and exchanged a confused glance.

“How can you not know who David Beckham is?” Olivia said finally.

“Even if your family are a bunch of sectarians, how can you not have heard of him?” Lauren said, crossing her arms. “He’s a footballer. Harry plays professionally. As a WAG, you _need_ to know these things!”

Well, that was one good thing about their break-up, Draco thought. He wouldn’t have to pretend to get Muggles anymore. He was tired of always putting his foot in his mouth. Fitting in with Muggles was plain impossible for him. And half the time he didn’t understand a word they said.

“Hey, we’re having dinner with Lauren’s grandmother,” Olivia said suddenly. “Do you maybe want to come with?”

“I don’t think –,” Draco started, but Lauren interrupted him.

“My nonna _loves_ meeting our friends,” she said. “She’s weird.”

Draco was confused. Did they not know about their break-up? Potter had definitely hung out with them since then. He had the _cast_ to show for it.

“Didn’t Harry tell you ...?” Draco asked carefully. He was fully expecting a stern talking-to when they found out.

“No, he did,” Lauren said factually. “And it really sucks, not gonna lie. But we get it, kinda … he’s just been so wound-up lately.”

“ _How_ –?” began Draco, unsure if he should continue the sentence. Was he even allowed to ask?

Lauren and Olivia exchanged uneasy looks.

Then Lauren said, “Honestly? The first three weeks, he was all over the place. When we were alone, he wanted to go out, and when we went out, he got overwhelmed and wanted to be alone.”

“We’ve been trying to get him to talk to someone,” added Olivia. “Not just about the break-up … about other things too.”

Olivia rubbed the back of her left hand almost incidentally, right where Harry’s scar had been.

“Haven’t heard from him all week,” said Lauren with a sigh. “We think he didn’t want to hear it from us too. Hermione said they have been talking to him about that for years.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and Draco didn’t know where to look. Harry was miserable. That wasn’t unexpected, so why did it hit him so hard? Had he really thought breaking up would push Harry in the right direction?

“But you know you can talk to us too, right? You are our friend,” Olivia said. Then she added more silently, “Even if you don’t know who David Beckham is.”

“I’m sorry, I have to get home to my dog,” Draco said, which sounded exactly as pathetic as it was. “He’s been alone all day.”

Well, at least he didn’t have a cat.

“Shame,” said Lauren. “Well, give us a call sometime, will you?”

“Er ... I don’t have a phone.”

“You’re a _doctor._ How does that _work_?” Lauren asked.

Draco was slowly getting nervous. Diverging their questions was a lot harder when he didn’t have somebody Muggle-savvy with him, who knew what to look out for.

He was eternally grateful when Olivia bumped Lauren’s shoulder. “He’s miserable enough already, you don’t need to torture him. Poor Draco.”

He didn’t look miserable, did he? He was _coping_. It was fine.

Sometimes people just needed to stare at boxed spaghetti for five minutes.

“Alright, I’ll see you around.” _Not_. “Sorry for almost running you over, Olivia.”

And then he got out of there as fast as he could and Disapparated from the first side-alley he could find.

~o~

His streak of bad luck didn’t end there.

He had just finished his walk with Aurelius and was pretending to search for a key to unlock his front door (Mrs. Capitelli was glued to her window again) when he heard a car approaching.

He almost dropped his wand (which was stuffed inside his sleeve) when there was a sudden loud honk.

He turned around and there they were – both of them waving at him from inside Olivia’s very small, very red car. They pulled into Mrs. Capitelli’s driveway and got out.

If only he had gotten home a minute earlier.

“What a _coincidence!_ ” said Olivia and Draco together. Olivia sounded just as upbeat as usual while Draco’s tone was outright suspicious.

Lauren came over to pet Aurelius. “How did you get here so fast?”

“Somebody gave me a ride,” Draco lied. “And I know a shortcut.”

“Liv said you hate cars.”

“I ... had to … pee.” Lauren still seemed to be full of doubt, so he followed it up with, “Mrs. Capitelli is your grandmother?”

But Mrs. Capitelli answered the question for her when she practically burst out of the door with a loud “Loretta!”

Lauren grimaced (probably at the name) but turned around to hug Mrs. Capitelli, who was apparently her _‘nonna’_ and still looking at Draco over Lauren’s shoulder.

“Oh, you’ve already met Draco? I’ve always wanted to introduce you, but Draco is _so_ hard to catch. The three of you have _so_ much in common!”

Draco suspected that she was hinting at the gay thing. He couldn’t think of anything else he shared with the girls. He certainly wasn’t as athletic or outgoing.

“No need, Nonnina. We already know him. He was dating our friend Harry for a while.”

“ _Was?_ ” Mrs. Capitelli placed a hand over her heart. “Oh _Draco_ , you didn’t separate, did you?”

“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Capitelli,” Draco said, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

“But he’s such a nice boy,” she said like that would be enough to change his mind. “We had pasta a few months ago. Oh, and he fixed my chair, you know? The one with the wobbly leg? It’s as good as new now. Such a shame …” 

Draco would have loved to Confound her so he could get out of there. Unfortunately, there were three Muggles around. Only an idiot would attempt to pull that off. Potter surely would try (as long as none of the Muggles were his friends, of course – which they _were_ ).

Draco opted for steadily inching towards his door instead.

Olivia stepped forward and gently took Mrs. Capitelli’s arm. “Come, Loretta, let’s go inside. Draco has plans already, but Lauren and I can tell you everything.”

This answered the question why Lauren didn’t go by her given name, and also provided Draco with an excuse to incline his head and then swiftly push open the door just enough so he and Aurelius could slip inside.

He went into the kitchen and watched the trio enter Mrs. Capitelli’s house. Olivia kept glancing at the window with a frown on her face and Draco was glad that Muggles couldn’t really see through the enchanted glass.

Maybe he should keep the Invisibility Cloak after all. All he needed was another Cloak for Aurelius. Or maybe a cape.

Suddenly he understood Potter a little better.

He was only thinking about avoiding certain people for now, but where would that lead? It wasn’t hard at all to imagine himself hiding underneath the Cloak whenever he left the house.

He went into the hallway and took the Cloak from its hook, the one closest to the door, like Potter had suggested (demanded!). He folded it into a little square and then stared at it.

He would return it to Potter when he saw him next, which would probably be at St. Mungo’s.

Thing was, he didn’t really want to put the Invisibility Cloak inside the pocket of his scrubs like he’d done before – he didn’t think he could take being reminded all the time. And it was certainly too expensive to just leave inside his locker.

The Golden Snitch was still inside the kitchen drawer where he’d put it immediately after their breakup. Draco turned it back to its original, pre-necklace size and then split it open before he could change his mind. He stuffed the Cloak inside rather unceremoniously and then sealed and shrunk the Snitch again.

Then he hung it onto the leftmost clothes hook by its chain and turned his back on it as soon as it was done.

He would put the necklace on before his next shift and pray that Potter got injured sooner rather than later. Draco just wanted to get it over with.

He also wanted desperately to pretend he hadn’t seen the words etched into the Snitch's surface now.

_‘Draco please.’_

He certainly wasn’t in the mood for cooking, so he sat down in front of his fireplace and asked to be connected to Linh’s. The line was busy and it took five full minutes until he finally got through.

Draco got to know the reason for that when his food arrived half an hour later – Sanjay gave him a pitying smile along with the plastic bag and waved over at Mrs. Capitelli’s house as he left.

When Draco unpacked his food, he discovered that they hadn’t given him two fortune cookies, despite him having ordered two dishes – there were eleven. Jian had probably stuck both her hands inside the box and given him as many as she could grab.

Somehow that felt worse than only getting one.

Suddenly, he wasn’t that hungry anymore, so he put the containers inside his fridge. He probably would have to start calling it a cooling cabinet again.

He sat down at the kitchen table and ate one of the fortune cookies, chewing it slowly. Aurelius lay down across his feet, which felt nice. Draco unfolded his fortune.

 _‘Your trouble will pass away soon.’_ – Yeah, he wished.

He opened another one and ate that cookie too.

 _‘New experiences and new friends are going to enrich your life.’_ – Unlikely. He doubted that he would ever be in a mood to socialise again.

He felt a little sick to his stomach, so he gave the next cookie to Aurelius.

 _‘Your sorrows will vanish and a lucky star will shine on you.’_ – Draco wondered if Jian had a special box of pick-me-up fortune cookies.

He just cracked the next cookie and left it lying on the table.

 _‘Whoever follows a crowd will never be followed by a crowd.’_ – Yeah, that was more like it. Whatever that meant. He’d take more of these nonsense ones. Better than the heart-touching stuff.

 _‘Follow your heart’s strong desire.’_ – Been there, done that. Crap advice. Draco crumbled the offending cookie in his hands.

He opened the next one and broke the cookie into ever smaller pieces before reading the fortune. In hindsight, he’d rather have gotten more of the heart-touching ones.

_‘Help, I’m being held prisoner in a Chinese cookie factory.’_

He spent the next ten minutes smashing the remaining cookies to crumbs.

He didn’t read any more fortunes.

He was starting to envy Harry’s Muggle ex-girlfriend Grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we should take a look at Harry tomorrow 🤔


	72. We Could Write the Saddest Song [Monday, June 5th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fan, Slytherinz_Ghost, Justforthedead, Icedmochalester, allhailthehales, You_Wish, Taisho, Elly_dk, Anonymous, ThatBoringOne, EmmaGraceWinchester, Anilanna_prongsie, Rionaa, Alisha, illindalenti, kylorrren, filidoune, WildvanillaRose, Zezily, pieragrine and PrimeMinisterofEverything! 🤗
> 
> As always, your kind words completely made my day. 🥰 I’m floating right now (unlike the rest of you, I’d guess 😉). Nice to hear I made you feel all the feels. And welcome to the bingers!
> 
> Let’s get right on with it, shall we? 😊 I call the theme for this chapter: Paaaaain without love, paaaain, can't get enough – and look, Harry’s there too!
> 
> Title: The Classic Crime - The Precipice

It was half past three in the morning on Draco’s birthday, which meant he was only four and a half hours into his night shift.

The night had been quiet so far, with only the occasional outpatient in between. Draco had spent most of his time checking in on his inpatients and working on his research paper, legs dangling from where he was sitting on one of the empty cots.

He was also trying very hard to ignore the occasional heat at his chest, whenever Potter must have been doing something to his own necklace.

Draco wondered if Potter knew when Draco was on duty and stayed awake for it, or if he just didn’t sleep at all. Both seemed equally likely, which wasn’t exactly a sign of him getting better.

He also didn’t know if Potter just touched his necklace or actually wrote something to him, because Draco never checked. Wearing that thing was stupid enough on its own.

Draco sighed and scribbled another note.

He was very aware that the Welcome Witch was shooting him glances every now and then, but seven weeks of being Harry Potter’s ex-boyfriend had taught him that this was simply going to be his life now.

Just yesterday, a young Trainee Healer had asked him to please sign her copy of the newest _Witch Weekly_ , which apparently featured a tell-all about Draco’s life at Hogwarts (courtesy of one Marcus Flint, former Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team).

Draco had ignored her only because hexing a trainee would surely earn him a Prophet article. He really didn’t need _another_ one. Not that he read any of them, but people had the habit of informing him every time anybody wrote anything about him (or _Potter_ ).

“What in Merlin’s name ...,” the Welcome Witch muttered suddenly, staring at the entrance.

Draco put away his charts and made his way over to her.

There was a sudden _CRACK_ from outside and then flashes of light illuminated the front desk in irregular intervals.

Draco drew his wand immediately.

It took him a second to realise that the massive crowd of people outside were not duelling each other. Two people were carrying a third towards the entrance while about a dozen paparazzi were taking pictures and shouting at them.

“Call security,” Draco told the Welcome Witch without sparing her a look. “Those _vultures_ won’t step a single toe into my trauma ward.”

Draco heard her smack one of her many charts with her wand, and he strode forward to meet the trio at the door. His two Trainee Healers, who seemed to have noticed that something was about to happen, joined him just as he opened the door.

“ _Is_ that ... No ...,” said Tanja Schuster, the Trainee who had spent a day in quarantine with him three months ago. “It can’t be.”

Her mate Octavius Ross inhaled suddenly and then whispered, awestruck, “It’s McCarthy.”

It sure as hell was the Tornados’ Seeker, Timothy McCarthy, and he was being carried by two of his team mates. Draco didn’t hesitate. He summoned a stretcher and then levitated McCarthy onto it.

In an instant all the cameras were on him, completely blinding him. Reporters were shouting questions, and though Draco couldn’t understand any of them, he certainly heard the words _‘Harry’_ and _‘Potter’_ several times.

Draco turned around sharply, pointing at his trainees. “You two are on guard duty until security arrives. I don’t want to see a single bloody paparazzo in there.”

With that he nodded at the two healthy Tornados, indicating that they should follow, and pushed the stretcher inside.

The smell of booze hit him as soon as the doors closed behind them. Both of the Tornados were swaying noticeably, and Draco would’ve bet his license that McCarthy was drunk too.

Draco choose the nearest treatment room and then addressed the girl first, because he was pretty sure that she was the Captain. “What happened?”

“Loons!” she shrieked unhelpfully. “Fuckin’ loony bins.”

“Smash’d him,” added her team mate, who was probably a Beater, the way he was built. “Sore losers!”

Draco sighed and cast his diagnostic charm, which revealed that McCarthy was completely fine, if you didn’t count a slightly cracked skull. “Who smashed him? And with what?”

“S’m loser,” the Beater repeated. “Complete nobody!”

“A whole table!” the Captain shrieked again. “Wingardi- something. Y’know?”

Draco already hated both of them, and not only because their team was the reason he had an _ex_ -boyfriend now. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve told them to wait outside, but he could already tell that they would refuse, and security was certainly busy. So, he summoned three vials of Sobriety Solution, put one into his pocket and pressed the other two into their hands.

“Drink this, it will clear out the alcohol.”

He let them figure out how to unstop the vials on their own, using the time to heal McCarthy’s skull and then cast a mild _Renervate_ at him.

McCarthy groaned, opened his eyes just a little bit and then promptly sickened up. Draco, who had seen it coming, pressed a bowl into his hands just a second before it happened and then vanished it afterwards.

“Welcome to St. Mungo’s, Mr. McCarthy,” Draco said casually, handing him the third, already opened vial. “Take this against the light-headedness, please.”

McCarthy needed three attempts before he managed to grab the vial and then very nearly spilled all of it. Draco steadied the vial and guided it to his lips.

The effects were visible almost immediately. McCarthy touched the back of his head gingerly and then blinked at his team mates.

“What the hell?”

“Some lunatic threw a table at your head, Tim!” The Captain wasn’t shrieking anymore, though she still sounded outraged.

“Your skull was cracked, but that’s pretty much it,” Draco said calmly.

Only just then did McCarthy notice him. He narrowed his eyes at him and crossed both arms in front of his chest. “What am I doing with _you_? I don’t want _you_ to treat me. Where’s Lyster?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Lyster isn’t on duty. It is three _in the morning_.”

“Then get me somebody else!”

His team mates seemed slightly uncomfortable, though they didn’t argue with him.

Draco rolled his eyes again. “And what would be the point in that? I already healed you. I’ll keep you overnight, a mediwitch will monitor you, and then you’re free to go in the morning.”

“I want a second opinion.”

“Certainly,” Draco said coldly. “I’ll see who I can find at _three o’clock in the morning._ You don’t mind waiting here for maybe an hour, do you?”

“Come on, Tim,” said the Beater, sounding like somebody who wasn’t keen on spending another hour at St. Mungo’s, but would feel obligated to wait with his team mate. “You look fine to me. Just let him admit you and get some rest.”

McCarthy glared at the Beater and crossed his arms even tighter. “Trust Potter’s _boy toy_? I don’t think so.”

“Cut the crap, Timothy.” The Captain had finally gotten a grip of herself. She sounded resolute and definitely more than a little bossy. “We were here the whole time. You can trust us if we tell you that there was no funny business.”

McCarthy glared at her now, obviously hurt that both his team mates would just undermine him like that.

“Just admit him,” said the Captain with a weary look at Draco.

McCarthy glared at her even harder, but his lips were pressed together and he didn’t protest when Draco updated his chart and marked him down for pick up.

The trainees were waiting for him right outside the treatment room, obviously too nervous to just enter. Draco really hated treating celebrities.

“Schuster, take Mr. McCarthy to his room, please. And make sure that his friends actually _leave_.”

Schuster cast a panicked look at the door. Then she straightened herself, grabbed her wand firmly and went in.

“Ross, fire-call the DMLE, would you? Somebody needs to come down here to get Mr. McCarthy’s statement concerning his assault.”

Just then, the entrance doors opened again, admitting three patrolmen who were levitating a body-bound individual in their midst.

“Never mind,” Draco said. “Here they are already.”

The DMLE lowered their charge down on the nearest table and Draco and Ross went over to meet them. Ross made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeal when he saw the man. He seemed reluctant to come any closer to an apparent criminal.

“What happened to him?” Draco asked as he refreshed the sterilisation spells on his gloves.

One of the patrolmen (whose name escaped Draco right now, though he had healed the whole DMLE at least a dozen times already) gave him an exhausted look. “Idiot got beaten up by half a Quidditch team.”

“Could be worse. At least they didn’t try to _hex_ him. I saw how pissed the rest of the team was.” Draco dropped down onto his stool. “They should still be here, by the way. Trainee Healer Ross can show you the way.”

The three men exchanged wary glances and nobody stepped forward.

“They’re sober by now,” Draco added incidentally.

Immediately two of the patrolmen holstered their wands and turned to Ross, before the third (whose name was Anthony Goldstein, Draco suddenly remembered) could even move a muscle. He definitely wasn’t the fastest one of them. He grumbled as his two colleagues followed Ross out of the Trauma Ward.

“Guess it’s just the three of us, then,” Draco said, casting his diagnostic charm. “Do you have his wand?”

Goldstein shook his head. “Pritchett has it.” He seemed to realise that this was less than ideal when Draco frowned at him, and added, “But we already ID-ed him. His name’s Barnabas Bones.”

The chart appeared in Draco’s hands as he flicked his wand. He leafed through it, even though he knew Bones (whom he never would’ve recognised with his whole face swollen like that) pretty well already.

Bones was a known hooligan and came in at regular intervals, most of the time after a brawl.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Draco said, putting the chart aside and getting back to his diagnosis. “The Tornados certainly got him good. The clavicle and his right wrist are broken. And ... yes, also two ribs. Also, it looks like ...” Draco cast at his own eyes to see inside the body. “Yes, the spleen is ruptured.”

“That buffoon,” Goldstein muttered. “Who picks a fight with a whole Quidditch team?”

Draco just shrugged. He really didn’t want to talk about Quidditch. “I’ll need you to unbind him.”

Goldstein gaped at him. “ _Unbind_ him? He’s violent and also under arrest. I can’t just unbind him!”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And I can’t heal his spleen and ribs while the Body-Bind is compressing his torso.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds while Bones squirmed slightly and groaned now and then. Goldstein seemed reluctant to follow Draco’s directions but also in lack of sufficient counter-arguments.

“He doesn’t have his wand,” Draco argued. “Bones and I go way back and he never tried to attack me once. Also, you’ll be here the whole time to watch him. It’ll be fine.”

Goldstein looked between Draco and Bones for a few seconds and then released him reluctantly, stepping a little closer to the patient.

Draco started on the spleen and worked his way through the injuries from worst to least concerning. Bones regained most of his consciousness when his ribs were pieced back together, and Draco charmed him into a slightly upright position and gave him a potion for the pain before continuing on the right clavicle.

“Welcome to St. Mungo’s. Can you tell me your name?”

Bones frowned and then said slowly, “Barney. Bones.”

“Very good,” Draco said, switching to the left clavicle. “And do you know who I am?”

Bones squinted at him and then shook his head. “Some Healer, right? Is it Abrams?”

“Near miss,” said Draco, even though Abrams had a good twenty pounds (of pure muscle, by the looks of it) on him and was always very tan.

Draco wasn’t worried. Bones whole face was swollen massively. He probably couldn’t even see him properly.

Both clavicles were fixed, so Draco focused on the face next. A quick spell took care of the worst swellings and another one righted Bones’ nose.

Bones’ squeezed his eyes shut and then blinked several times before taking a look at Draco. He seemed surprised to see him. “ _Malfoy?_ ”

Draco didn’t have time to answer. Bones made a grab for Goldstein’s wand, which the idiot held loosely at his side. Draco acted fast – the wand flew from Bones’ hand as the Expelliarmus hit him.

But then Bones was on him, grabbing his scrubs with both hands and throwing him to the floor. All the air left his body on impact and Draco lost hold of his own wand.

Somebody yelled something, but Draco couldn’t figure out what it was, because that was when Bones punched him in the face and Draco went out like a light.

~o~

Draco was lying in the grass next to a streaming river. He could hear the gentle murmur of the water and smell the damp earth and fresh grass.

Why was he lying there?

He had the vaguest memory of falling, but couldn’t for the life of him remember where he had fallen from or why.

He felt heavy and very tired, and moving his hand over the ground took considerable effort. The ground was smooth and soft and didn’t feel like grass at all. The river also didn’t sound all that much like water anymore, and more like whispers.

“– _sure_ he wasn’t trampled by a hippogriff?”

There was a low groan – Draco wasn’t sure if it came from him – and then another voice, this one female, whispered, “Shut it, Blaise; you’re not helping.”

“Not trying to,” Blaise whispered back. “But those bruises are definitely getting worse by the hour.”

“It’s the arnica,” a third person muttered, sounding particularly down. Still, the voice made Draco feel oddly calm. “It’s speeding up the process.”

“ _‘arry?_ ” The word came on its own, the first letter swallowed completely and the rest of it slow and barely audible.

Draco forced his eyes open just as Harry leaned over him, his brilliant green eyes staring deep into Draco’s as if he was searching for something.

Draco groaned as a pounding headache emerged. He raised one heavy hand to his head and squeezed his eyes back shut. A cold hand was placed on his forehead and Draco groaned again, this time in relief.

“You might have _some_ use after all, Potter,” he muttered, placing his own hand on Harry’s to keep it there. “Who would have thought?”

He opened his eyes just in time to catch Harry looking over his shoulder at Blaise and Ginny, who were exchanging confused glances with each other.

“ _What?_ ” he asked pointedly. “How bad is it? Am I permanently disfigured or something?”

“Nah,” Harry said distractedly. His hand was twitching underneath Draco’s. “You look fine.”

Draco frowned. He had expected a joke at his expense, accompanied by a crooked grin, not this weak attempt at reassurance. A feeling of unease settled in his stomach.

He fixed Harry with a stern look, searching his eyes. “What’s wrong? And don’t even think about lying.”

Harry withdrew his hand and sat down on a chair by his bedside, avoiding his eyes and examining one of the many grass stains on his Quidditch trackies instead. There was also grass in his hair, but he didn’t seem to mind or know.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Some hooligan punched me in the face,” Draco grumbled. “Should’ve known better than to trust that he wouldn’t bite the hand that heals him.”

“Right,” Harry said slowly. “Well, he definitely got you good. Broke your jaw and also three ribs before Goldstein managed to subdue him, and all with a broken wrist of his own.”

“ _Ravenclaw_ ,” Blaise said, unimpressed. “I’ve always said Goldstein was useless, haven’t I?”

“Every single time we had Herbology with them,” Draco agreed. “Quite excessive, one might say.”

His head was already pounding again, but he was not about to ask Harry to lend him a hand again. There were people watching.

“He was in the D.A.,” Ginny said in a disapproving tone. “He’s not _useless_.”

“Bones nicked his wand, Ginny! What kind of DMLE employee do you have to be to have your wand just taken from you like that?”

“We are not that bad, right?” Draco asked Harry with an eyeroll. “Please tell me we don’t bicker like that.”

“Er –,” said Harry, grimacing far more than he had any right to.

“Not in public!” Draco added.

Nobody answered him, though Blaise and Ginny stopped arguing to regard him with nearly identical frowns.

“Fine,” Draco groaned, struggling to push himself into a more upright position.

It took several failed attempts until Harry muttered, “That’s just pathetic to look at”, hooked his arms around Draco’s torso and pulled him up gently, the strong scent of earth and grass clearing Draco’s head a little.

Then he let go immediately and went to sit on the windowsill. Something was definitely not right – Harry was avoiding looking at him.

“So, did Bones say _why_ he tried to kill me?” Draco tried for a casual tone and then added, as an afterthought, “Is he a homophobe?”

“He blames you for the Falcons’ defeat,” Harry said tonelessly. “The Tornados flattened us yesterday. 450 – 90. It was a disaster. Bones lost a huge bet.”

Something was trying to wriggle its way to the forefront of Draco’s mind, though he couldn’t quite grasp it.

“Tornados? Didn’t you already play them this season?”

“Right.”

“So why were you playing them again yesterday?”

“The first game was cancelled,” Harry took a deep breath, hands buried in his hair, and then, finally, looked at him again. “Because somebody cursed the referee, remember?”

Draco frowned, trying to fight his way through the muddy swamp that was his head right now. And then the scales fell from his eyes and his stomach dropped. He felt sick.

“We broke up after the match!”

Harry threw up his hands in frustration. “ _You_ broke us up!”

“That’s our cue,” said Blaise smoothly, and then the two of them were gone. The door snapped shut behind them.

“What are you even doing here?” Draco demanded, crossing his arms. He was trying very hard to ignore the hot, prickling feeling behind his eyes. He felt weak and out of control, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“You’ve still got me as your emergency contact,” Harry said flatly. “They contacted me at practice a few hours ago.”

“ _Ah … fuck,_ ” Draco said, closing his eyes. “I forgot to change it.”

And then the tears started to fall.

Draco turned his back on Harry quickly, even if the twisted position he found himself in sent dull, throbbing pain through his freshly healed ribs. Still better than crying in front of his ex-boyfriend.

He knew, rationally, that patients often cried after they were healed. It was hard to keep one’s emotions under control after the shock and stress of injury had worn off. This knowledge didn’t help him now, though.

He hadn’t cried in years, not even when his parents had disowned him. He thought he _might_ have cried a little bit out of relief after his trial and subsequent acquittal, and that had been a good eight years ago.

But then another memory resurfaced of blood, blood, blood and then Harry, who carried him out of here and took care of him while he did nothing _but_ cry and stare at the walls, and that had only been last year.

It was all just too much – the attack and then the realisation that Harry wasn’t his boyfriend anymore, after thinking for a good two minutes that everything was fine between them.

“What’s _wrong?_ ”

There was the sound of feet hitting the floor as Harry jumped from the window sill, and then footsteps.

Draco turned further around and tried to hiss, “Don’t touch me!”, but it just came out as a rather pathetic sob.

He could feel Harry’s presence at his back, but nothing else happened except that Harry repeated, “What’s wrong?”.

“Everything’s … fucked … up,” Draco said in between deep breaths, trying to get himself back under control again.

“What can I do?” Harry said helplessly.

“Just leave.”

“I can’t just _leave_ ,” Harry protested.

“ _Go!_ ” Draco said, voice still husky. And then, before he could stop himself, he added, “I wish … I wish I’d never started this whole thing with you.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a second. Then he rounded the bed in an instant and grabbed his shoulders.

Draco refused to look at him – he could imagine the expression on his face and he didn’t want to see it.

“You don’t mean that, Draco.”

Draco shook his head and groaned. It felt like his brain was slamming against his skull.

Again, the words just tumbled from his mouth. “Why does it _hurt_ so much?”

It was evident that Harry understood that Draco wasn’t talking about his injuries, or else he wouldn’t have put his arms around Draco like a Healer’s worst nightmare and squeezed.

Draco didn’t protest, clinging to Harry instead. The pain was a welcome distraction from the empty feeling inside him, like a black hole trying to swallow him up.

“I know,” Harry whispered against his ear. “Just come back to me, please.”

Draco would have loved to agree.

He would’ve given anything to be able to lie in Harry’s enormous bed and let him fuss over him, to eat everything Harry cooked for him and then get annoyed when Harry insisted on cleaning up before coming to bed.

He couldn’t, though. It would all just start again from the top. Somebody would find out eventually, and then they’d be back at Draco’s throat in an instant. Harry would do something rash for him and they’d both be miserable again.

Draco took one last breath of grass and earth and, underneath it all, the faint scent of Harry’s mint shampoo, and let go.

“I can’t ... I … I want you to get better, but _I_ can’t – I’m not – I can’t _fix_ you.”

“Draco –”

Draco shook his head and leaned back into the pillow and away from Harry. “I’m not changing my mind. We’ll be happier like this ... eventually.”

“That’s bull-”

Draco turned to face the window, even though his torso started to ache again the second he twisted, and said flatly, “You should leave now.”

There was a second’s hesitation, during which Harry surely contemplated arguing some more, and then Draco heard the faint rustling noise that meant Harry had vanished underneath his Cloak.

Draco didn’t know why Harry even bothered – the mediwitches obviously knew he had come to visit, because they were the ones who had contacted him, and they would also know exactly when he’d left, because he slammed the door on his way out.

Draco willed himself not to cry again, in case one of them came to check on him.

He really had to get a grip. This was just pathetic. He knew he was doing the right thing for both of them.


	73. How to Start a War [Thursday, June 8th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to these beautiful people: ulysses_the_bird, Justforthedead, Anonymous, bellathebella, anonana, KnowThatILoved, EmmaGraceWinchester, allhailthehales, Slytherinz_Ghost, Icedmochalester, Rionaa, windowcracks, Bookmysterr, Fandomwarriorqueen, Grace Kudla, Alisha, pieragrine, PrimeMinisterofEverything, Fan, burninglikeacid, Elly_dk, SimplySomeone, filidoune, ThatBoringOne, Zezily, WildvanillaRose, illindalenti and SHkatty!  
> You guys, we’ve hit 1,000 comments, that’s crazy! Thank you all so SO much! 🤗 That’s 1,000 little pick-me-ups should I ever feel crappy!
> 
> Title: Simon Curtis - How to start a war

Draco had had it. Two days in a bed at St. Mungo’s (one of which had been entirely unnecessary in his professional opinion) had made sure of that.

It was time to repay the person who was responsible for all of it.

The pub was quite empty, which was somewhat surprising on a Thursday afternoon, but certainly not unwelcome. More people meant less risk of being overheard.

Draco had to scan the crowd three times before he spotted his target sitting at a small table in the far corner.

He acknowledged the waitress (the one who had laughed upon seeing his Halloween costume, he suddenly realised) with a nod and then made his way over before she could get a good look at him.

“Mr. McAllister,” he said casually as he sat down on the empty chair opposite the Prophet’s Quidditch correspondent.

For a moment it seemed like McAllister didn’t recognise him. His eyes flitted across Draco’s face, catching twice on the fading scar that would stretch across his left eyebrow for a few more days at least. Was this how it always was for Potter?

“Draco Malfoy,” he said finally and in a wary tone.

Draco didn’t miss the way his hand twitched towards his pocket where his wand was likely hidden.

“Worried I’ll attack you?” Draco said. His voice sounded tired even to himself.

“Isn’t that what the two of you do?” McAllister shot back at once.

Draco didn’t bother telling him that they weren’t _‘the two of them’_ any more. He definitely knew and Draco didn’t need to say it again.

He placed both hands on the table instead, wand firmly stored in his pocket. “ _I_ never attacked anyone. Besides, did you do something that would justify an attack?”

Though McAllister seemed offended, he wasn’t reaching for his wand anymore, crossing his arms instead and glaring at him.

“Why did you ask me to come here? I hadn’t pegged you as a fan of Muggles.”

“I didn’t ask you here to talk about myself,” Draco said matter-of-factly. “We won’t be overheard here, that’s why I chose it.”

“ _Overheard_? Talking about _what_?” McAllister certainly seemed rather sceptical.

“Quidditch, of course.”

McAllister opened his mouth in confusion and then closed it again when the waitress came over to their table.

“What can I – _Draco_ , what happened to your _face_?”

Draco grimaced and made a casual gesture with his hand to show that it was nothing. “Unhappy patient at the hospital. It’s fine.”

“ _Fine?_ ” Her tone suggested that she had never in her life seen anything less fine than his face. “Does it hurt much?”

“Barely,” Draco said, taking one of the menus and sliding it over to McAllister. “I’ll have a water, please.” Then he added, looking over at McAllister, “What do you want? I’m buying.”

He wasn’t sure if McAllister, who was scanning the menu now, was of Muggle descend or had any Muggle money. It was essential that Draco got into his good graces. Seeing how badly their meeting had started out, Draco was prepared to pull out all the stops.

“I’ll take a ... _beer?_ ” It definitely sounded more like a question.

The waitress pursed her lips as she scribbled their order down, which Draco found rather unprofessional. Chastising paying customers for drinking in the afternoon didn’t seem like very sensible behaviour for a waitress.

“Harry came in last weekend,” she said suddenly, though she didn’t look up from her note pad. Maybe she wasn’t unhappy about McAllister’s _order_ but about _McAllister_ himself. “Does he know about this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Draco said pointedly as McAllister was hanging on to her lips. “He visited me at the hospital.”

She looked up at Draco, who indicated McAllister by rolling his eyes in his direction and then shook his head slightly but firmly.

He regretted choosing this location now. What he definitely didn’t need was for a reporter to know where Potter spent his free time.

It was just that this had seemed like the most obvious choice. Wizarding locations were out of the question, he couldn’t take him to Linh’s, and there weren’t any other Muggle places he knew.

Well, there was one, but Draco certainly wasn’t going back to the place where he’d gotten bloody _stabbed_ by a childhood friend.

“I just think –”

“ _Thank_ _you_ ,” Draco said, taking McAllister’s menu and putting it back into the little holding box on their table to indicate that she should leave them.

She sighed and obliged.

McAllister looked at him like he couldn’t believe Draco would just willingly take him there. Was the reporter already planning how best to weasel the most information about Potter out of the waitress? Draco must have been _insane_ to choose this location.

“What would you say if I told you I had private information about Potter?” Draco said casually, like one would talk about the weather. “Information I would be willing to share?”

McAllister’s eyes narrowed. He pushed back his chair decidedly and made to stand up.

“I’m not interested in _gossip_.”

“You write about Quidditch players,” Draco argued, earning himself an even darker glare.

“I write about _Quidditch_ and everything that directly relates to it. I don’t write about the colour of somebody’s underwear or their dating lives.”

“Don’t these things directly influence the game?”

“These _things_ are ruining Quidditch!” McAllister was gripping the back of his chair tightly, knuckles white.

Draco put a hand inside his pocket. McAllister flinched and repeated the motion automatically. He drew his wand as Draco pulled out a small velvet pouch. The gold jingled as Draco slid the bag across the table.

“Please sit down, Mr. McAllister,” Draco said pleasantly, making a point to ignore the drawn wand. “Let’s talk about how the Prophet is ruining Quidditch.”

McAllister stood frozen, thrown by the appearance of gold and the absence of a threat. He only reacted when their waitress returned, stuffing his wand back into the pocket.

“Oh, are you leaving already?” she said none too sadly.

McAllister shook his head, scrutinizing Draco over the table even as she unloaded their drinks.

She clutched the now-empty tray and faced Draco again. “So, Harry visited you in the hospital? That was really nice of him. I just know that he really cares –”

“Yes, thank you,” Draco said, never breaking eye contact with McAllister, who finally, after several agonizing seconds, sat back down.

The waitress was still there, so Draco looked up at her then. She was contemplating the gold pouch.

“Is that jewellery?”

“Listen –,” Draco said shortly, glancing at her name tag, “Sarah. We’ll talk later, alright? But this is a business meeting.”

She nodded, though her eyebrows told him that she didn’t fully believe it, and finally left them alone.

“What’s this?” McAllister asked as soon as she was out of earshot, indicating the pouch.

“Advance payment. Fifty galleons up front, A hundred and fifty afterwards.”

It hadn’t taken him long to decide to use his lawsuit savings for this. If ever somebody decided to sue him for something (which he still thought _highly_ likely, being a former Death Eater who worked a job during which people regularly died despite his best efforts), he’d just have to figure something out. He could always sell the house if push came to shove.

At the moment, Harry’s problems were _much_ less theoretical than his.

“To do _what?_ ” McAllister asked suspiciously, making no move to take the gold.

“To find out who is feeding the Prophet information about Potter.”

McAllister’s eyes narrowed. “You just told me _you_ were willing to share information about him.”

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He had the strong urge to insult McAllister, so he took a sip of his water instead.

“I didn’t want to pay you just to see you run to Cuffe and tell him I’m snooping around. Are you in or not?”

“ _Why?_ ”

“ _Why?_ ” Draco repeated slowly. “Why do I want you to do it?”

McAllister nodded, so Draco leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of his water. He knew that McAllister was in already.

“Let’s see. They exposed my private life, which I’m still angry about. They ruined my relationship, which makes me fucking livid. And most of all: They caused Potter to be suspended, which should make _you_ fucking livid, too. Also, some bloody hooligan broke a fuck-ton of my facial bones because he blames me for Potter’s suspension and the Falcons’ defeat. Bloody _fucking_ livid, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

McAllister leaned back in his chair too, taking a long gulp of his own drink. But just when Draco thought he had the reporter in his pocket, he straightened, placed his beer on its mat and pushed the pouch back towards Draco.

“I’m not a private investigator,” he said firmly. “Keep your gold.”

Draco wasn’t prepared for this outcome. He had expected to be rejected as soon as McAllister recognised him or not at all.

He didn’t know how to react. Should he try to Obliviate McAllister before he had a chance to tell his boss about all of this?

McAllister must’ve noticed his confusion, because he saved Draco the trouble of coming up with another reason. “I’m a journalist. _Some_ of us do have integrity, you know?”

“Meaning you won’t spy on your employer even if _he_ has no integrity himself,” Draco said coldly.

“Meaning, _Draco_ , I’ll do it for free.” McAllister flipped open his notebook and made a move for his inside pocket, stopping himself at the last second. “Do you have a regular quill? I can’t exactly use the Quick-Quotes in here.”

“Muggles don’t use them at all,” Draco said, head spinning from the sudden turn of events. He produced a pen from his own inside pocket and clicked it. “They use these things.”

“Fascinating!” McAllister exclaimed, taking the pen.

He clicked it several times before he was finally ready to take notes.

Draco told him everything about the briefcase full of gossip, without going into detail about the information that hadn’t yet been published. He made sure to include the fact that most of the notes had fixed publish dates, even if Draco couldn’t remember them clearly anymore.

Pembroke, which was what Draco had to call him now that they were allies, scribbled down every last detail, down to the colour of the ink that had been used. Draco didn’t know how that could be of any significance, as Cuffe himself had written the notes, but Pembroke was the expert, he supposed.

Nearly three hours had passed when Pembroke finally packed up his notebook, which was completely filled by then.

Draco would’ve loved to go home and lie down, but there was simply no way that he could leave without talking to Sarah the waitress first. She had refilled their drinks four times, each of those giving him very telling looks.

It took less than three minutes for her to notice that Pembroke was gone and she filled his empty seat immediately.

“He looks _old_ ,” she said pointedly. “How old is he?”

“Why would I ask him that?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ you ask?”

“Because I’m not looking to _date_ him. It was a business meeting, I already told you.”

“Business? What business?” Sarah asked bluntly.

“None of yours,” Draco said just as straightforward.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed both arms in front of her chest. Her eyes were reduced to slits, which (unfortunately for her) made her look like a short-sighted person rather than a menacing one.

“If you’re messing with Harry –,” she said, trying for a threatening tone and failing.

Draco scoffed. “How could I mess with him? I told him that we’re not getting back together at least a dozen times. Whatever convoluted meaning he takes from that is not my fault.”

Sarah didn’t seem appeased. It dawned on him that she would probably tell Harry all about this meeting the next time she saw him. Draco wished that he could just Obliviate her. It was out of the question, of course. He was in no position to use magic on Muggles.

Maybe he could try to bribe her, but somehow he doubted that she would bite. The attempt would probably just egg her on, convince her that there was something Draco was trying to hide from Harry.

Well, at least there was no way that she could tell him who it was Draco had met. And Pembroke McAllister didn’t have any particularly distinguishing features she could relay to Harry.

“What was in that little bag?” She pointed at the place where the bribe had been before McAllister had declined it.

“ _Also_ none of your business,” Draco said. “I’d like the bill, please.”

“You’re not selling _drugs_ , are you?” she said suspiciously.

“What, out in the open like that?” Draco rolled his eyes so hard they might’ve fallen out of his head. “And then I stay for three hours after the handover? The bill, please.”

Sarah pretended like she hadn’t heard him.

Draco had a short internal debate whether he just ought to slap a hundred pounds on the table and be done with it, but ultimately, he decided against it.

He didn’t want her to think that he was trying to bribe her into keeping quiet about his suspected drug dealing when in reality he was trying to bribe her into keeping quiet about the whole meeting.

Also (as he had already mentally noted), she seemed like the type of person who would be _offended_ if somebody tried to bribe her. She had that Gryffindor-kinda feeling – a whole lot of opinions and no finesse.

“Fine,” Draco sighed, pushing back his chair. “I’ll find somebody who actually _works_ here.”

“You’re kind of an arsehole, you know?” Sarah said without much reproach, like she was just stating a fact.

She turned back a few pages on her note pad and began calculating.

“To _strangers_ who try to _meddle_ in my former relationship? Absolutely.”

“No wonder you ended it.” She presented him with the bill and then produced her enormous wallet. “Everybody else Harry is friends with is much nicer.”

“You think _Lauren’s_ nicer than me?” Draco said, raising an eyebrow.

He handed her fifty pounds and then declined the change. He hated these weird coins with their different shapes, sizes, incuses and colours. How was he supposed to get a hang of them?

“Most of the time, yeah,” said Sarah. Then she grinned. “She pretends to flirt with me sometimes. _You_ never do that.”

“Try growing a beard – maybe then I’ll flirt with you.”

“ _Harry_ doesn’t have a beard,” Sarah argued. “And you flirted with him plenty.”

Draco stood up as soon as his wallet was back in his pocket, eager to get away. “ _He_ doesn’t look like a girl.”

“Think about what I said,” Sarah said firmly, getting up as well.

“About flirting with you?”

She rolled her eyes and gave the table a cursory wipe with a towel she’d been keeping in her apron. “About Harry. I’m sure he’d take you back.”

Draco sighed and made his way over to the door.

“ _Not_ going to happen,” he called over his shoulder, and then he was outside and gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will do double update tomorrow! 😊  
> (Because the second of those chapters is stupidly short!)


	74. I’m a Fucking Arsonist [Sunday, July 30th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to: Anonymous, Justforthedead, windowcracks, Gallavich_endgame_2934, Fan, filidoune, Elly_dk, ulysses_the_bird, WildvanillaRose, Hime_chu, pieragrine, hush_over_the_night, EmmaGraceWinchester, Slytherinz_Ghost, minijaxter, ThatBoringOne and kylorrren! 😊
> 
> So, without further ado (because I’m on my lunch break): Here’s the next one.
> 
> Title: Panic! At the Disco - Crazy=Genius]

Draco Malfoy was an idiot.

He had always _suspected_ this of himself, but on the evening of July 30th, it became glaringly obvious to him.

Why else would he go to a party his ex-boyfriend of now three and a half months would surely attend as well? This was one giant mistake.

Draco hadn’t wanted to go at first. When the owl had delivered his invitation to Neville’s 26th birthday a month ago, he had simply vanished it without even thinking about it.

Then Luna had come in with a nasty bite wound that was very much infected. Creature-related injuries weren’t a case for trauma, but Draco had visited her during his break.

Her explanation had been as bizarre as he would have expected of her: She believed there was a sub-species of doxies whose bite would give any witch under the age of ninety-nine the ability to fly, provided it was the full moon.

So, she had waited a whole week before coming in, which hadn’t exactly improved the infection.

Even in a delirious, feverish state she had made him laugh, and only when his break had ended half an hour later had he realised that it had been the first time since the break-up that he had laughed without feeling hollow afterwards.

Luna wanted him to come to the party, she had said when he took his leave. And still Draco hadn’t wanted to go.

Two days later, he had run into Blaise and Ginny on their way to visit Luna. Draco had felt some amount of guilt at seeing them – he had made excuses for Wednesday dinner ever since the break-up. He wouldn’t have put it past Blaise to invite Harry there unannounced – he just loved to meddle.

Ginny had repeated Neville’s birthday invitation a second time and assured him that there would be no strangers there – just the usual clique, including the Muggles.

Apparently, none of them were judging him for breaking up with Harry. Neville had even asked Harry if it was okay to invite Draco in advance. There was nothing to worry about.

Draco _still_ hadn’t wanted to go.

And then he had passed Harry in the hallway and not felt the urge to run the other way. Harry had been looking better – not as worn out and thin as when Draco had last seen him in passing three weeks prior.

Draco had even managed to hold eye contact and say, “I hope there are no Nargles in there.”

Harry had looked down at the bouquet of flowers he’d been holding and said with a small grin, “Don’t worry. I triple-checked them.”

“Good for her.”

Harry had nodded, brushed a hand through his hair. Draco had waited for him to say what he was working up to.

“I just … I’m sorry. I …” Harry had breathed out heavily and looked back down at his flowers. “I’ve been to see George’s Mind Healer. I thought … she knows some things from George already, right? So it’s easier. And George says nothing from his sessions has leaked yet, so …”

Draco’s heart had missed a beat and then hammered twice as hard in excitement. “That’s … that’s really good. Congratulations!”

Harry had shrugged half-heartedly. “Honestly? I didn’t want to go back after the first time, but after what happened on your birthday …”

“It’s a progress,” Draco had said. “The important thing is that you’re working on it.”

“Yeah ... God, it’s _so_ much work, though. I’m so fucked in the head.”

“You’re not fucked up.” Draco had squeezed his shoulder then. “You’ve just been through so much.”

Then they’d smiled at each other and went their separate ways. And Draco had only spent half an hour thinking about this encounter afterwards.

He was finally getting over Harry Potter and it was liberating. He was done feeling sad and lonely. It was time to get back out there and get it out of his system. He just needed a clean cut.

He had been ready to face Harry then.

Blaise had picked Draco up at nine in the evening (to make sure he was really going) and – after the girls were done hugging him like someone who had just come back from the dead – assigned him a chair.

This was the first time he had managed to snag a chair at their pub. Before then, Harry had always made sure they were squeezed together on the bench. He was still trying to get used to having full movement in both his arms and legs when the others joined them.

Draco realised the error of his ways as soon as Harry sat down on the bench opposite him. To say that he looked good enough to eat would’ve been an understatement.

Draco took one fleeting look at the way the emerald dress shirt made his eyes shine and then quickly looked away as his stomach did a _very_ painful somersault.

There was no way in hell he would look in his direction again! What had come over him to assume he was over Harry?

Harry had chosen that shirt on purpose – Draco just knew it.

What was even worse: his hair was all over the place, like he hadn’t even combed it that day. Harry knew perfectly well what that did to him. Draco felt the very strong urge to just lean across the table and sort it out.

Thankfully, there were plenty of other people present. Draco knew how to restrain himself in public at least. He grabbed one of the beer mats to busy his hands.

 _Draco_ hadn’t put any special care into his outfit. He was simply wearing dark jeans and a grey hoodie jacket over a blue t-shirt.

To be perfectly honest, he couldn’t hold a candle to how good Harry looked. Not that he _wanted_ to, of course. _He_ wasn’t trying to impress anybody.

If he _was_ conveying a message, it was that he was over Harry. True or not.

Draco turned to the person sitting next to him, who happened to be Luna. “So, I’m guessing you _didn’t_ develop the ability to fly?”

Luna shook her head carelessly and smiled mildly at him. “I’ll just have to keep trying.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Lauren, who seemed to have been plucked out of the middle of a conversation with Harry and Olivia, was frowning at them. “What did Luna do this time?”

Harry laughed loudly. Draco tried not to look in his direction. It was hard. Harry was leaning across the table (which meant closer to Draco) to be able to look at Lauren.

“She gotten bitten by an animal and entered some kind of fever dream about being able to fly at night.”

“Not just _any_ night, only during the full moon,” Luna corrected. “And it wasn’t a fever dream.”

“Well, you definitely had a fever,” Draco said. “No wonder, after waiting a whole week before coming to the hospital.”

“ _Luna_!” Olivia gasped. “That’s really dangerous. You could’ve gotten _rabies_!”

Draco gathered from her reaction that rabies was a big deal for Muggles. For him, healing rabies was just as easy as treating the common cold.

“Rabies? That’s just anti-creature propaganda.” Luna was looking down fondly at the faint scar the doxy had left on her forearm.

“It’s really not,” Draco said. “You could definitely get rabies by being bitten.”

But Luna just smiled at him like she hadn’t expected anything else from him and wasn’t fazed by his objection in the slightest.

“Maybe you _should_ get back together with Dean,” Ella said, but Draco didn’t miss her looking from Harry to him, as if it was _them_ who should really get back together. “He would never let you wait a week before dragging you to a doctor.”

“That’s why we’re not compatible,” Luna said, as if a guy had to be willing to let her die in the name of science in order for her to consider him.

The rest of the night passed excruciatingly slowly.

Every conversation Draco was in felt exhausting. He was constantly aware of Harry – where he was sitting, who he was talking to, what he was saying. Try as he might, Draco just couldn’t ignore it.

He supposed that alcohol would have helped getting him through, but he wasn’t dumb enough to test it. He knew how things got when he was drunk. He tended to throw all caution to the wind and do what he _felt_ like doing, like kissing people who looked like a certain someone. Sitting directly across this someone, Draco really couldn’t afford that, so he just stuck to soda.

Draco excused himself when the clock showed half past eleven. He felt tired and drained. What was more: it was almost Harry’s birthday and Draco really didn’t want to be there for that. He couldn’t exactly ignore Harry on his _birthday_.

He had originally expected Harry to leave before midnight, but there was no way that Draco would risk staying just to realise that Harry was staying as well. Safer to make his exit while he still could.

Draco made a detour to the gents to splash some water in his face in an attempt to regain enough of his focus to Apparate home safely. When he came out, he nearly had a heart attack.

“What the hell are you playing at, _Draco_?”

Draco took three hasty steps back and bumped into the still closing door. Harry was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed in front of his chest and squinting at Draco.

“I – what? I’m not _playing_ at anything.”

“That’s funny.” Harry didn’t look all that amused. “You say you don’t want to get back together. But then you come here, wearing that t-shirt, and I’m thinking that maybe you _do_ after all. But _then_ you don’t even look at me all night. So, what am I supposed to think?”

Draco frowned down at the t-shirt he was wearing. It was just plain blue with no distinguishing features. There was nothing _special_ about it.

“What’s wrong with my t-shirt?”

Harry closed his eyes briefly in frustration. “That’s _my_ t-shirt.”

Draco crossed his arms. “No, it’s not. I distinctly remember buying that in this weird shop with all the lights.”

“ _You_ didn’t buy it; _I_ bought it there.”

“All _you_ ever buy is red.”

“Does it look like I’m wearing red right now?” Harry indicated his emerald silk dress-shirt with both hands.

“That _thing_ doesn’t count. _Samantha_ bought that for you.”

“ _It’s my t-shirt!_ ”

“Fine, fine!” Draco threw his hands up in the air. “Please excuse me for stealing your most boring t-shirt. I’m sure you must have missed it terribly.”

“Not that you would care.”

Draco narrowed his eyes as Harry messed up his hair quite thoroughly. “So what? Want to have it back right now?”

Harry glared at him, hand still buried somewhere inside his hair.

“Would you _stop_ that, for fuck’s sake?” Draco couldn’t take it any longer – he grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled it away.

There was no spark of magic to throw Draco off. Harry just grabbed Draco’s wrist with his free hand automatically and stared him dead in the eyes, daring him to take it further.

Maybe they _should_ have fought it out so they could both move on.

Draco did something much more stupid instead – Draco kissed him. It was awful and beautiful and all things in between. But most of all it was desperate.

Harry had let go of his wrist, but Draco was still holding on to his, which meant he could have prevented Harry from grabbing his shoulder. Draco let Harry turn them around instead, so that now he was the one with his back pressed against the wall.

 _‘This is the worst idea since Dumbledore hired Lockhart,’_ Draco wanted to say. Instead, he said, “The others will miss you.”

“No, they won’t,” Harry mumbled. “It’s half to midnight. They’re expecting me to vanish right about now.”

“Vanish?” Draco asked stupidly.

He had trouble thinking with Harry’s hair smelling like mint and his mouth tasting like those cherry-flavoured shots. And then there was his hand at the back of Draco’s neck and his body pressed against Draco’s and – Merlin, Draco was on fire.

“Like this,” Harry whispered.

Their lips parted for a second during which Harry checked to see that the corridor was empty. Then his hold on Draco’s neck and shoulder tightened and they were gone.

The first jump took them into a shallow forest, illuminated by moonlight. Then they reappeared in the middle of a field of wheat. The last stop was Draco’s bedroom.

Draco finally let go of Harry’s wrist, though Harry didn’t let go of him.

“This is a bad idea.”

“ _Shut up._ ”

It was a good thing that Draco hadn’t had any alcohol or he would quite possibly have been sick when Harry picked him up at waist level and threw him onto the bed. Or when he dropped himself on top of him, at the very latest.

There also was quite an amount of hair in his face, but Draco didn’t complain. He buried a hand in Harry’s soft curls instead. There were a lot of them and Draco suddenly realised that Harry had let them grow a few inches, so they were covering his scar completely now. Draco liked it.

And then Harry kissed him again and Draco didn’t have any time to think about it further. There was nothing but Harry’s warm body on top of him and his cold hands underneath his t-shirt.

Draco disentangled his hands to unbutton Harry’s stupid, magical shirt. “Don’t think I don’t know you did that on purpose.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Harry was grinning as he opened the last buttons himself and then just dropped the shirt somewhere on the floor.

Draco lurched forward and slung both arms around Harry’s body, turning them around so that now he was on top.

It wasn’t hard at all not to think about what he was doing. Deep down, he knew this was a bad idea, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He was weak and all he could think about was how Harry squirmed underneath him as Draco trailed kisses down his neck, and the way his skin tasted. Harry was panting already, stroking his back and hair. His hands weren’t cold anymore, which meant that he was definitely turned on.

Draco slipped a hand down and opened both their jeans. Getting them off would be a problem, because there wasn’t enough space between them to fit a piece of parchment and Draco wasn’t intend on changing that any time soon.

But then Harry gave a sigh and a simultaneous wave of his hand, and their jeans simply vanished. Draco was too enamoured to care and just concentrated on kissing every inch of Harry’s skin that he could comfortably reach.

It only took a minute before Harry grew restless. He started struggling and tried to turn them around again, but Draco wasn’t having it. He just pinned him down harder with his full body-weight, with both hands in his hair and with a heated kiss.

“Unfair,” Harry muttered into the kiss, tugging at his collar.

Draco sat up, knees on either side of Harry’s body, and dragged the t-shirt over his own head in a haste. It barely took him three seconds before they were kissing again.

But something had changed – Harry didn’t seem to be as into it anymore. Draco felt his muscles tense underneath him and then he was flipping them around effortlessly. Harry braced one hand on Draco’s chest and looked down at him.

Then he slipped one leg between Draco’s and put his head on Draco’s shoulder, resting their foreheads against each other.

There was a soft clinking noise when he put one arm around him and when Draco looked down, he saw that their Snitch pieces were clinging to each other like magnets.

Draco had forgotten he’d been wearing the necklace. He wasn’t surprised that Harry hadn’t taken off his own.

Their next kiss was slow and soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hand slipped.


	75. Guess I’ll Burn in Flames [Sunday, July 31st 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks: Fan, illindalenti, windowcracks, filidoune, pieragrine, EmmaGraceWinchester, Elly_dk, Jessynotjessie, Gallavich_endgame_2934, JW04401, Icedmochalester, Justforthedead, Zezily, bellathebella, noodledoodlezoo, De_Borah, SimplySomeone, linellin, Rionaa, Eddie (thanks for the recs!), kylorrren, Speedy_Typhoon, karush, Anonymous and PotatoesAreAwesome! 🥰
> 
> I should’ve invested in the keyboard manufacturing market. You guys must be getting close to wearing yours out. 😄 But honestly, I was laughing over your comments. Just so good. 👌🏻
> 
> Here’s the shorty now.
> 
> Title: American Authors – Pocket full of Gold

Draco wished he had been drunk last night. Drunk people were stupid and therefore not fully responsible for their actions; everybody knew that.

 _Draco_ was very much to blame for what he’d done to Harry.

Draco wished he had at least had sex with Harry last night. People did very stupid things to get laid – like Polyjuice themselves, for example.

What Draco had done was far worse than use his ex-boyfriend for sex.

He had played with his hair and stroked his arms and looked him in the eyes and kissed him lovingly. He had spent hours just listening to Harry breathe, not exchanging a single word. He had fallen asleep with his arms around him and Harry’s head on Draco’s chest.

Draco wished that Harry had already left.

The space next to Draco was empty, but Harry’s shirt and shoes were still lying on the floor and the faint noise coming from the kitchen was unmistakeable.

Draco wished he could put off what he had to do, but it would only get harder the longer he waited. Better to do it now, before Harry got too used to the idea of them being back together.

He dressed slowly – all fresh clothes, none of Harry’s – and went downstairs reluctantly.

He found Harry in front of his stove, stroking Aurelius with one hand. He was wearing a pair of Draco’s pyjama bottoms and the blue t-shirt that had led to this whole mess.

Draco didn’t wish Harry a happy birthday.

Firstly: he didn’t think it would be one.

And secondly: he knew that wasn’t what Harry wanted to hear. And what Harry wanted to hear, Draco couldn’t tell him.

Harry took one look at him and lowered his wand. His spatula dropped into the pan he was frying eggs in. The easy smile on his face died instantly.

“ _Don’t_.”

Aurelius whined and pissed off.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco only glanced at him and then stared at the eggs. He was sure there hadn’t been any in his fridge. Had Harry gone home just to get them? Merlin, this was getting worse and worse by the second.

“ _You’re sorry?!_ ” Harry’s hands were balled into fists at his side. Looking at him was even worse than looking at the eggs.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.” Draco took a shaky breath and looked out of the window, where Mrs. Maloney was pushing her child in a stroller. “And I shouldn’t have done the rest ...”

“Then why did you?”

Because Draco was weak. Because he had missed Harry. Because he just wanted things to be alright again and had thought, for one idiotic moment, that he could make them right himself.

“I don’t know … This is hard for me too, you know?”

Harry’s eyes were ice cold, but his voice was pleading. “It doesn’t have to be! You’re _making_ it hard.”

Draco shook his head. “We broke up for reasons and nothing has changed about them.”

“ _You_ broke us up. And things _have_ changed! I’m getting help, that’s what you wanted, right?! Damn it, Draco, I’m doing therapy for you!”

Draco took a step back and crossed his arms, glad that he had had the forethought to get dressed before facing Harry. Doing this in pyjamas or even half-naked would have been impossible.

“You’re supposed to do it for yourself, you idiot! And you said it yourself! You’ve got a million things to work through still!”

Draco had the horrible feeling that he was just adding to them right now, but he couldn’t help it. He was sure that it would be worse if they just picked up where they had left off and he didn’t want to destroy any kind of progress Harry had made.

Draco doubted that Harry was at a point where he was equipped to deal with the publics’ reaction to _that_. He was livid _right now_ , and if that wasn’t a clear sign that he wasn’t ready, then Draco didn’t know what was.

“If you didn’t _want_ me here, why didn’t you remove me from your wards?!”

“I _do_ want you! But not right now and not like this!” Draco wasn’t completely sure why he was screaming.

Maybe because his insides felt like something cold had taken hold of them.

Maybe because screaming was better than crying.

Maybe he just wanted to push Harry away.

It was working, Draco could tell. Draco was breaking his heart and it was written all across Harry’s face. Harry wasn’t the type to cry – not because of this, not now – but he looked ready to punch a wall.

“You’re still wearing the bloody necklace!” That was an accusation.

“Because I’ve been meaning to return it!” Draco didn’t mention that he’d had plenty of opportunities and let all of them pass by.

He pulled it out of his pocket now and held it out to Harry. Harry stared at it like Draco had just ripped Harry’s heart out of his chest and was presenting it to him.

“ _Take it._ ” Now Draco was pleading too.

He had the sudden thought that all of it would be over if Harry just took the damn necklace. A clean cut, a new start. Either they’d get back together someday, when Harry was better, or they would not. But no more of this shit, the uncertainty.

Harry shook his head. He turned on the spot and practically ran from the kitchen. Draco received a nasty shock when Harry pushed past him. Then there was a deafening _CRACK_ and Harry was gone.

Draco looked after him for a long time, feeling oddly numb and slightly dead inside. Then, without really knowing why he did it, he put the necklace back on. Maybe he just liked to suffer.

Bizarrely, Draco’s first real thought was that Harry’s clothes were still on Draco’s bedroom floor.

Draco doubted that he would return for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll do this British thing called a queue now and then each of you will get to scream at me once. No cutting, please (that applies to both the line and me)!


	76. Meet Me on the Battlefield [Sunday, August 20th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, you guys are seriously on fire. I really hope I got all of you!
> 
> Supermassive thanks go to these little sunshines: PrimeMinisterofEverything, Justforthedead, Hodgies, Fan, disaster, Elly_dk, Jessynotjessie, Anonymous, Slytherinz_Ghost, allhailthehales, ThatBoringOne, SHkatty, PotatoesAreAwesome, Emmarosebat, Jade_Blanc, Zezily, Alice_Mary05, WildvanillaRose, IzzyShep, Speedy_Typhoon, Rionaa, hush_over_the_night, AcadianProud, EmmaGraceWinchester, Alisha, kylorrren, Icedmochalester, Fandomwarriorqueen, windowcracks, Mystical.Moose, SlytherinSeaWitch (Happy Birthday!), filidoune, Gallavich_endgame_2934, Colamarie2010 and M.a.! ☀️
> 
> Glad to see you’re still able to feel things even after all this time! 😊
> 
> Also, I really need you to bear with me now. 🙄
> 
> Title: Svrcina – Battlefield

Draco didn’t know how Muggles lived their lives without shrinking or floating charms. How they dealt without _cleaning_ charms, he understood even less. But worst of all was, of course, all that travelling they had to do.

Draco didn’t know how they managed to live, period.

He pondered all this as he struggled to transport Mrs. Maloney’s fashion magazines down the street to her house without dropping them.

But the real test came when he reached the door and was faced with the impossible task of ringing her doorbell with both hands occupied. For about two seconds he tried to use his elbow to do it, but he quickly stopped when the whole stack began to sway.

In the end, he managed to push the button with his nose (which he _only_ attempted because he could always Obliviate them if anybody saw him do that).

“ _Draco!_ ” said Mrs. Maloney pleasantly, genuinely happy to see him. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you Mrs. Maloney. How are you?”

“Brilliant,” said Mrs. Maloney. “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”

“No, thanks, Mrs. Maloney.” With a downward nod Draco indicated his scrubs (which he’d kept on after his morning shift for _precisely_ this reason), and said, “I’ve got to leave for work any minute now. I just wanted to return these to you.”

She smiled, took the pile from him and put it down at the base of the stairs behind her. “Thank you. Did you like them?”

“Yes, thank you,” Draco smiled back almost effortlessly. He was definitely getting there. This was progress. “I’m _actually_ thinking about doing something different with my hair. Frosted tips seem to be all the rage right now.”

Mrs. Maloney laughed freely. “Your hair is _already_ frosted. You’d actually have to _defrost_ most of it.”

“Maybe I’ll do _that_ , then.” Draco gestured over his shoulder at his house. “Well, I’ve got to go, but thank you again. Have a nice day.”

“What’s that?” Mrs. Maloney said suddenly, squinting at something behind Draco.

He turned around and, his stomach dropping, saw the silver stag galloping towards him.

Mrs. Maloney grabbed his upper arm, her hand shaking slightly.

“Draco, are you seeing that too?”

Even if his mouth hadn’t been bone dry, Draco wouldn’t have known how to answer her.

The Patronus had reached them now, but it didn’t slow down, circling them instead. Draco thought he heard people shouting in the distance, and then there it was – Harry’s voice, the words laboured and broken.

“Draco. Get Draco … Liv …? Liv!” 

“Good Lord,” Mrs. Maloney breathed out, gripping his arm tighter.

The other hand she touched to her forehead and across her chest, just as the stag stopped in front of him.

Draco removed Mrs. Maloney’s hand from his arm forcefully, ignoring her startled yelp of pain.

He grabbed his wand tightly in one hand and reached out with the other. The Patronus lowered its head and approached. As they touched, he could feel Harry’s magic somewhere deep inside his chest.

He Apparated.

At first, he didn’t know what he was seeing or where to look.

There were people everywhere, scurrying around, yelling instructions at each other and then vanishing behind a large red and yellow car that was blocking the street and his view.

Men in uniforms were cordoning off the street while a cluster of people on the other side of the tape seemed to take pictures of metal parts that were littering the street.

Blue lights kept flashing and the air smelled horribly burned.

“Harry!” he shouted above the ruckus, but nobody replied.

A uniformed woman ran past him and Draco set off after her, rounding the car.

Only half was left of Olivia’s tiny red car.

The front of it seemed to have merged completely with a second, much larger car. The roof was missing entirely.

“ _No._ ”

Draco dashed forward, pushing away two of the people that were grouped around it. In an instant there were hands dragging him back, but he caught a glimpse of a thin, blonde girl in the driver seat and nobody beside her.

_“Olivia!”_

“Calm down!” shouted one of the burly men who were half pushing and half pulling him away. “We’re helping her, you have to let us do our job.”

Draco was barely listening, searching for a way to break free and struggling on. But then he caught sight of something on the ground a little further down the road, away from the wreck, and all the fight left his body.

There was a body bag.

Somebody was dead.

How much time had passed since the accident? Had Harry been able to send his Patronus straight away? How long did it take Medi-Muggles to get to the scene?

Draco couldn’t be too late!

Could he?

The Medi-Muggles let go of him and one of them went straight back to the car, having apparently decided that he wouldn’t be a problem any longer.

“Her name’s Olivia?” the remaining one asked.

Draco nodded, his eyes never leaving the body bag.

“She’s unconscious and we have to cut her out. There’s no telling yet, I’m afraid …” The Medi-Muggle tried his best to look sympathetic while also blocking his way to the car. “If you’d go over to the ambulance, you could help her immensely by telling my colleague her information, anything you know that could be important –”

“Where’s the other one?” Draco said, completely ignoring his request.

He was now trying to measure the body bag with his eyes. Harry would be taller, wouldn’t he? But then again …. Maybe they hadn’t found all of him.

He felt like throwing up and completely numb at the same time.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I was working on the girl,” the Medi-Muggle said hesitantly.

Draco looked at him now.

“Who didn’t make it?” His own voice seemed to come from far away, toneless and strange. “Black, curly hair all over the place, same skin colour as yours?”

The Medi-Muggle seemed reluctant to answer and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Where did they train these quacks?

“Did he have a scar? Right here!” Draco jabbed at his own forehead.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” the Medi-Muggle said. “I really couldn’t tell. If you’d please wait over there now, so I can continue to help your friend Olivia.”

Draco didn’t want to think about how much blood there would have to be to cover up the scar.

Maybe he didn’t even have a face anymore.

“He’s probably wearing some stupid knitted sweater,” he pressed on, pushing these thoughts away. “And he has really green eyes.”

“Green eyes?” a second Medi-Muggle appeared, looking harried. “We called the heli for him; they just took off.” He turned to the first Medi-Muggle with an urgent look on his face. “We need you back there, we’ll have to act fast once she’s out.”

And then he was gone again before Draco could ask him any more questions, like ‘W _hat the fuck is a heli_?’.

He resisted the urge to grab and shake the remaining Medi-Muggle. Did nobody here speak basic English?

“So, he’s _not_ dead? What the fuck does that _mean?_ ”

“They’re flying him to the Royal London for emergency surgery.”

The Medi-Muggle took a subtle step back, as if he knew exactly what the inside of Draco’s head looked like.

“They’re going to cut him up?!” He could feel the static of his magic travel down his arm and into the wand he was still gripping tightly. “Are you mental?”

“They are trying to save his life,” the Medi-Muggle said placatingly.

He held up both hands, like Draco did when trying to calm down a raging family member. Draco wasn’t raging, he was the only sane person here!

“You’re going to kill him!” he yelled, raising his wand now.

“Sir, put the stick down!” the Medi-Muggle said resolutely. “Or I will have you arrested.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Draco said, but he still put away his wand.

He was needed elsewhere. He couldn’t waste his time with Muggles now.

He cast a short glance over to the car, where Olivia was still trapped. He didn’t doubt that he could get her out in no time. He would probably even be able to pull some strings and get her admitted to St. Mungo’s. She was a close friend of Harry’s, after all.

The thing was: She wasn’t important right now.

Draco turned on the spot, crossed underneath the tape and made his way through the gawping crowd. He barely checked for onlookers before Apparating.

~o~

Draco knew what being helpless felt like. He had been imprisoned in his own home after all, forced to do the Dark Lord’s bidding.

What he wasn’t used to was feeling helpless at a hospital. He usually was in charge there. And on those grim days when he _wasn’t_ , at least he always knew that he had done all that he could.

Draco didn’t _know_ what to do at the Muggle hospital. He didn’t know the procedure, the technical jargon or even the layout of the building.

How was he supposed to find Harry? He doubted that the doctors had enchanted charts that told them where all the patients were.

Would they even know Harry’s name?

He didn’t have any time to lose – Muggles were highly unequipped to deal with life-threatening injuries. Who _knew_ what they were doing to Harry right now?

Draco racked his brain for a spell that would lead him in the right direction, his eyes flicking around the entrance hall restlessly. He came up with nothing at all.

He should’ve placed a tracking spell on Harry, but such thoughts were pointless now, of course. Not that Harry would have let him do it.

He had to think like a Muggle. What would a Muggle doctor do?

Harry probably had extensive injuries, so they would have to attempt surgery. That was what the Medi-Muggle had said too. He had to find the operating rooms.

Draco strode up to the next Medi-Muggle he saw and grabbed her arm urgently.

She opened her mouth to protest and then shut it again as she took in the navy-blue scrubs he was still wearing. Her eyes glossed over the emblem on his chest and the hospital badge, like all Muggles did. Her own badge read _‘Anastasia Zarov’_.

“Where are the operating rooms?” His own voice sounded strange to him, like it wasn’t him talking but something deep inside of him.

“Which ones?” Anastasia squeaked, apparently slightly afraid of him.

“Trauma,” Draco pressed out impatiently. “There was a car accident. They flew him in.”

“ _I –_ ” Anastasia whispered, eyes darting around wildly. They kept catching on his badge.

Draco was close to shaking her until she became useful, but people were already taking note, casting him suspicious glances. The Welcome Muggle seemed ready to call security at a moment’s notice.

Draco closed his eyes for a split second and took a deep breath.

He wished he had back-up, but there was no way to contact anybody right away. There were no owls and no fireplaces. The Protean Charm on his badge was one-way. He had never managed a real Patronus. And even if he had, he surely wouldn’t be able to produce it now. How Harry had done it after having been in a car accident was beyond him.

Draco pulled himself together with massive effort and turned Anastasia around so the on-lookers could only see their backs. His wand was already in his hands and it didn’t take him much effort at all to cast the curse.

The worry disappeared from Anastasia’s face at once and was replaced by a peaceful smile. She turned around and strode over to the front desk, and Draco followed at a distance.

“Hey Dolores, do me a favour and look up where they took the car accident victim they flew in a couple of minutes ago. Doctor Malfoy was called in to assist.”

Dolores cast him a wary glance before she turned to look at her screen. She didn’t seem to find Anastasia’s behaviour suspicious, at least – not that she could possibly suspect what he had done to her.

“EOT seven,” Dolores supplied finally.

“I’ll take you there,” Anastasia said obediently, leading him towards a double door to the right.

Draco gave his wand a tiny twist and she picked up the pace. By the time they reached the staircase they were practically running.

EOT seven was the furthest down the hall, right next to the lift. Draco tried not to wonder if they had chosen the room because it had been closest.

He had more pressing matters – like what he was planning to do once he was inside. He probably couldn’t knock the Muggles out all at once without hurting Harry too.

He didn’t even know how _many_ of them would be there.

Would he even get in?

If only he could turn invisible ...

Draco tripped over his own feet and barely managed to grab Anastasia for support. She took hold of his upper arm and pulled him along.

He clutched at his chest desperately and almost cried out in relief when his hand closed around the Snitch underneath his scrubs. He hadn’t worn it for a week after the _incident_ , until stubbornness had taken hold of him again.

Draco ripped the necklace off unceremoniously. A smack of his wand broke the Snitch open and he pulled out the Invisibility Cloak he had been meaning to return.

Anastasia didn’t bat an eye when he vanished just as they reached EOT seven.

Draco willed her to open the door for him, and he slipped inside as she mumbled, “Sorry, wrong theatre,” and closed it again.

For a second Draco thought they really had gone to the wrong room.

Muggles were huddled around the table and all Draco could see at first was a single arm, completely scratched up but far too pale to belong to Harry.

The Muggle at the head end stepped away to grab something, but Draco couldn’t see the patient’s face because they had strapped a mask to his mouth and nose. His forehead was smeared with blood and his hair was completely covered with a cap.

Then all hell broke loose.

Two of the doctors began to yell instructions as one of the machines, which had made a beeping sound until then, started to emit a long, drawn-out noise that didn’t sound right at all.

“He’s bleeding out!” somebody yelled and then – for whatever convoluted reason – they were stuffing cloths into the patient’s open torso.

For one long, gut-wrenching second, Draco didn’t know where to start.

Check if it really _was_ Harry?

Incapacitate the doctors so they couldn’t cause irreparable damage?

Cast a diagnostic charm to see what the main problem was?

Have a look inside to start healing and hope he would recognise the major injuries right away?

“More O neg!” somebody yelled and then a Medi-Muggle almost knocked him over on her way to the telephone that was mounted to the wall.

Draco squared his shoulders as she shot a confused glance over her shoulder.

There was a reason you could not operate on family. Right now, he was a Healer, _not_ Harry’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. And as a Healer, the priority was to ensure the patient’s survival.

The Muggles seemed to have located where most of the blood was coming from.

Draco took the only free place at the patient’s feet and cast _Inspicio_. Then he got started on mending the ruptured artery. He could feel the person’s magic reacting at once, letting itself be manipulated by Draco’s to help repair the damage.

Definitely not a Muggle.

The flow of blood was easing off. He didn’t have any Blood Replenishing Potion, so he had to rely on the Muggles to look after that.

There was a sudden, startled yelp and then the clank of instruments hitting the floor.

“ _What happened_?” somebody yelled.

Draco tried to ignore it as best he could. There were more important things right now.

Harry – Draco had to call him that now, because he couldn’t bear the thought that he could be wasting his time on any other person – had several additional life-threatening injuries.

Draco just got started on the collapsed lung as another voice stammered, “It sealed _itself_. I ... what ...”

And suddenly, a strange wave of nausea washed over Draco, making his stomach turn and his head spin. All of the Muggles took an instinctive step back, and the freshly sealed artery ripped back open. The beeping machine flickered and emitted a high-pitched, wavering sound.

A cold shiver ran down Draco’s back as he immediately bore down on it again. The artery should have been healed. There was no reason for it to break apart like that, like it was actively working against his healing magic. Draco gripped his wand tight and fought against the increasing nausea.

The lights overhead flickered.

“What’s going on?” a Muggle yelled in a panic.

“Maybe it’s the circuits?” another yelled back, sounding like he was trying his hardest to believe it.

This was Euan Abercrombie all over again.

The curse scar on Harry’s chest (and now it really _had_ to be him!) was killing him and there was nothing Draco could do but exhaust himself trying to prevent it and watch him bleed out.

Draco _refused_.

He grabbed a scalpel from the table, ignoring the Muggles’ panicked screams.

His shield charm pushed all of them away from the table, pressing them against the walls. Their screams sounded strangely muffled to him, the only one still standing at Harry’s side.

The machine was going crazy, emitting all its highest and lowest notes and all the ones in between.

Draco didn’t have time to think about the best approach. He just turned over the slab of skin and flesh, and cut around and underneath the oval scar liberally.

It only took a few seconds and Draco didn’t hesitate before making the final cut, casting another _Protego_ at the same moment.

The erupting wave of dark magic overturned several supply carts and pushed Draco back several feet.

All the lights went out at once.

The only sounds were heavy breathing and scattered whimpering, and one Medi-Muggle who was sobbing to herself. The beeping had died as had all the other background noises.

Draco rushed back to Harry’s side.

A _Lumos Maxima_ illuminated the whole room even more brightly than before.

He thought he recognised the sound of somebody hyperventilating behind him. A doctor who was pressed against the opposite wall was doing some kind of criss-cross motion in front of his chest.

It only took five seconds to repair the artery and this time it stayed intact. Draco didn’t wait before casting a _Renervate_.

Harry’s heart stayed still.

“Oh – no – you – _don’t_!” Draco growled, repeating the spell with every word and increasing desperation.

When Harry’s heart started beating again, it was almost imperceptible, but Draco didn’t wait to see if it would pick up. Harry had lost so much blood already and Draco wasn’t sure how the Muggles supplied him with more and if that system was still working now.

He concentrated on the collapsed left lung instead.

As soon as the lung was halfway presentable, he abandoned the torso and strode around the table to focus on the head instead, which – by some miracle – seemed to be alright, if you didn’t count the numerous lacerations.

His patient was ready for transport. Draco cast a stasis charm and ended the _Inspicio_ spell.

Then he took his first good look and nearly broke out in tears.

The right side of Harry’s face was just as scratched up as his arm and also unnaturally pale. But underneath all the blood and dirt, there was still the scar.

It really was him.

Draco locked the doors with a flick of his wand to prevent the Muggles from escaping after his shield was gone. He couldn’t risk them running around and telling the whole hospital about some daemonic happening and subsequent vanishing.

There was a loud bang not three seconds later as somebody ran into the doors from outside, and Draco used the distraction to close Harry’s chest with a spell. The flesh fused together haphazardly, and there was no time to heal the wound where the curse scar had been just above his heart.

There was a second during which several people yelled and then Draco cut every single tube and wire that Harry was hooked up to with a _Diffindo_ , grabbed both his shoulders and Apparated.

~o~

Somebody – probably one of the newer Healers – yelled as they reappeared at the entrance to St. Mungo’s Trauma Ward. The rest of the staff was relatively relaxed as they rushed over, until they realised who exactly was lying battered and bleeding on their floor.

The confusion was perfect when Draco ripped off his Cloak and shouted, “I need some help!”, all the while lifting Harry off the ground with his wand.

“And also BRP!” he added, starting on his way over to the nearest treatment room.

Nash and Abrams abandoned their patients and ran over to them, pointing their wands at Harry to support Draco’s levitating charm.

“Car accident; the _Muggles_ got him first. Is Meadows still here?”

Draco wasn’t sure how much time had passed since his shift had ended. It seemed like hours ago, or maybe just seconds.

“He’s in surgery,” Nash replied just as they entered the treatment room and placed Harry on the healing table.

Two mediwitches rushed in after them, levitating several bottles of Blood Replenishing Potion.

“Three units,” Draco told one of them, ordering the other to “Get me Meadows under all circumstances!”

The mediwitches flew into action. Nash cast several disinfecting spells at Harry. Two more Healers rushed in to join her. Abrams turned to block Draco’s access.

“You’re _in the way_ ,” Draco hissed.

Abrams crossed his arms. “And you’re not allowed to be in here.”

“I will hex you; I _swear_!”

Draco could feel it thrumming through his veins – a mixture of anger and magic. He was barely able to control it, the heat bubbling just underneath the surface.

He imagined that this was what Harry felt like most of the time.

“Attack a Healer? I wouldn’t advise it. They don’t take kindly to that at the Ministry.”

Draco wanted to laugh. He had done worse things than that today.

He also wanted to cry. Harry was in critical condition and he doubted any of the others would let him help if he just hexed Abrams.

“Please,” Draco whispered. “I _need_ to help him.”

“You know the rules.” Abrams grabbed his arm and turned him towards the door.

“No, don’t!” Draco shouted, wrenching his arm away. There was desperation in his voice, even though he tried his hardest to sound reasonable. “I won’t fuck it up, I _swear_! We’re not even together anymore! Everybody knows that we broke up! Please! I don’t have any feelings for him, I just want to help!”

“Is that why you’re _crying_?”

And then Draco was full on sobbing, and Abrams took his shoulders and pushed him into the hallway, closing the door in his face.

Draco tried to come back in, but Abrams had warded the room against him and nothing Draco did got him inside.

He smashed his wand against the door.

He kicked it.

He tried to convince Meadows when he finally showed up.

He swore and begged and cried and when that didn’t help, he sat down on the floor next to the door and kept watch.

His mind kept racing through the events over and over again – the stag Patronus, the car crash, Olivia, the body bag, the Royal London Hospital, Harry, Harry, Harry, oh Merlin, no, no.

He wasn't dead, he couldn't be dead, he couldn't die.

The stag, the car crash, Olivia, body bag, the hospital, Harry.

He was alive. He would live, because Draco couldn't bear if he didn't.

Stag, car, Olivia, body, hospital, Harry.

Merlin, why did they do this to him? He had to help, he had to do something, he couldn't just sit here and wait.

Stag, car, Olivia –

Draco took a shallow, shuddering breath and got to his feet.

Nobody stopped him on his way to the lift, and only visitors got on with him. They kept shooting him uncertain glances, but he was still wearing his scrubs, so _they_ didn't stop him either. They got off one after one, until he was on his own for the last two stories.

Draco didn't bother knocking.

He just pushed the door open and staggered into the office, and then Chief Cortez knocked over her coffee mug and only managed to produce her wand after five whole seconds.

Merlin, Harry would've had his wand in hand a second before Draco had ever even touched the door.

But he couldn't think about him now. This was about doing something, not about losing his mind in despair. He could get to that afterwards.

"Malfoy!" Cortez hissed, face twisted in sheer disgust. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Draco shook his head. What were the words? He didn't even know what he wanted to say, how to say it. Fuck, he had to do this right, but for once in his life, he didn't know the words. And _now_ , just when it really mattered.

"Malfoy!"

Another shake of his head, clenched fists, a desperate breath.

Hurry, hurry, hurry! No time, Merlin, what was he doing?! Fuck!

Focus. Deep breath.

"I'm not doing anything," he said, voice cracking and barely audible. " _You_ are going to do something."

Cortez got to her feet, wand pointed at his chest now. "What –!"

Another headshake. Shoulders squared. Chin high.

"There was a car accident near St. James’s Park. A Muggle is gravely injured. Her name is Liv –" His voice broke and Draco cleared his throat aggressively. "Olivia. Townsend. You're going to send Trauma Healers to find her. You're going to make sure they're taking her here. You're going to make sure she's going to be alright."

"Malfoy, have you lost your mind? You know we can't treat Muggles for Muggle injuries!"

Eyes narrowed, arms crossed, no display of weakness now.

"You will help her or I will tell everyone what I know about you and Abrams. I'll go to the Prophet, Witch Weekly, I'll sell you to every little pulpy magazine I can find. Your marriage would be over. Your career would be over."

Angry sparks flew out of Cortez' wand, her face was contorted in rage. She wasn't going to do it, Merlin, God, fuck no.

"The Statute –"

"Fuck the Statute!" Draco hissed. There were tears in his eyes again, though furious ones this time. "She was with ... with H- ... _him_ , when the accident happened. Make something up. Don't let H- ... "

Deep breath, deep breath. Last name, that was less personal, he could manage last names.

"Don't let one of Potter's best friends die. They'll let you get away with anything, I know they will. He's the Saviour."

_He is, he is, he is. No past tense, never!_

Cortez stared at him for another one, two, three seconds, wand held so tight it looked painful, mouth just a thin, angry line.

A sharp nod. Then she twisted with a loud crack and was gone.

Draco laughed. It was insane, hollow, desperate and it _hurt_ , but there it was.

He had done something, everything he could.

As he made his way down, legs shaking and hands braced against the wall of the lift, he wished he were allowed to Apparate in St. Mungo's too. He'd have scraped up the last of his magic to do it.

Merlin, what was taking so long? Harry could be …

No, he _couldn't_ , because Draco wasn't there, and people didn't die when their loved ones weren't there with them – he refused to accept it could happen.

He felt dizzy and sick when the lift finally opened on the Trauma Ward and he staggered out, eyes wild and dashing all around, searching for a sign, anything.

The treatment room was still closed, nobody was waiting to deliver the news to him. He hadn't missed it.

Draco slumped against the wall again and hugged his knees against his chest. Now what? Back to waiting. To panicking.

“ _Draco!_ ”

Before he could even begin to comprehend where she’d come from, Ginny was kneeling in front of him, hands placed on his shoulders as if trying to comfort him. She looked about as good as he felt, sombre and horribly pale.

“How is he?”

Draco shrugged slightly. “Still alive when they kicked me out.”

He tried to tell her about Harry’s injuries and what he had done to help him, but the words wouldn’t come out, so he closed his mouth and turned his head back towards the door.

Ginny inhaled sharply and placed her warm hand on his cheek to turn his head further around.

“What happened to you?”

“To me? _Me?_ ” Draco was aware that he was starting to sound hysterical again but couldn’t stop it. “ _I_ am perfectly fine!”

“Draco, you’re bleeding.”

Draco just shook his head, forcing her to let go.

Blaise knelt down next to Ginny, a sleeping baby in his arms and a frown on his face.

“Draco, you’re missing part of your ear.”

Draco put a hand up to where they were looking and felt his ear. There was a clean, sharp cut right at the top, and his finger were wet.

Draco did the only logical thing – he laughed.

Blaise and Ginny exchanged worried looks.

“I _Splinched_ myself! Fucking brilliant!”

“I’ll heal it.” Ginny’s wand was out in a heartbeat. “What’s the spell?”

“Leave it.”

Draco was giggling now, which didn’t seem to reassure them. He covered his ear for good measure.

“Merlin’s pants,” Ginny mumbled, taking the baby from Blaise and handing her to Draco. “Here, hold Rose.”

Draco put out his hands automatically.

Ginny pointed her wand at him, but he couldn’t exactly drop the baby to defend himself. One dead family member was enough for one day.

The cleaning charm burned and the bandages that wound themselves around his head were much too tight, but Draco didn’t protest. He was thankful for the distraction.

“Where are Hermione and Ron? I thought they’d inform her first.”

“Hermione’s got an appointment and Ron got called in to work half an hour ago; that’s why we’re babysitting,” Ginny said in a very soft voice. “Some idiot Apparated in front of a dozen Muggles. When will people learn –”

The last half of her sentence got lost as Blaise locked eyes with Draco, who pressed his lips together tightly.

Ginny exhaled laboriously. “Oh, well ...”

“He’ll probably be busy for some time,” Draco said numbly. “Once they hear about the Royal London ...”

“Is that where you got him from?” Ginny asked carefully. “The mediwitch said something about a car accident.”

Draco gave a nod and looked down at Rose, who was still asleep in his arms. If only he could sleep too, until all of this was over … for better or worse. Nothing was more gruelling than this uncertainty.

Draco trained all his concentration on Rose – her tiny hands, her cute little nose, her squishy cheeks, her curly red hair.

It suddenly occurred to him that this was the very first time he was holding a baby. Was it normal to live twenty-six years and never get handed a baby? He supposed it surely wasn’t for the Weasleys.

Most of the family arrived a few minutes later.

Nobody asked what he (who had broken Harry’s heart, after all) was doing there. Nobody asked why he was sitting on the floor or holding Rose. They just whispered and kept their eyes glued to the door.

Hermione burst in through the front entrance some time later, exchanged two sentences with Ginny and then took off for the front desk to find somebody who could update them.

Ron was the last to arrive, still wearing his practical Auror’s robes and wringing his hands nervously.

“I came as soon as I heard! What’s going on?”

“Nobody talked to us yet,” Ginny said. “He was in a car accident. Draco got him from the Muggle hospital and brought him here.”

“ _Car_ accident?” Ron frowned and Draco focused on Rose again. _She_ wasn’t complicated or difficult to listen to. “I just came from one. A complete mess. Two Muggles are dead. I just hope Harry’s accident wasn’t as bad as that. Those _things_ are death traps.”

Ron certainly wasn’t raising their spirits. Nobody answered.

Draco looked up from Rose and realised they were looking at him.

He really wanted to tell them about Olivia’s involvement, but he was reluctant to worry them even further. The situation was bad enough as it was.

He wondered if they’d taken her to the Royal London too. If she’d made it out of her car.

“Uh ... Hermione?” Ron sounded somewhat anxious. “The team’s here. Aren’t they supposed to be playing the Arrows in an hour?”

He was right – the Falcons had burst through the doors. And they were more than complete. All of the starters were there, but so was every single reserve player – even Felicity, who for once didn’t seem to be happy about Harry’s misfortune.

“ _Great_ ,” Hermione muttered. “I’ll chase them off. Seems like I’ll also be calling Sam. If _they_ know already, I guess everybody does.”

And then she intercepted Greyson on his way over to them. Their talk, which lasted several minutes, involved a lot of gestures and ended with Hermione seeing the team out of the front door.

Draco focused his attention back on the door.

The silence didn’t last very long.

Ginny hissed something that sounded like “For fuck’s sake!” and then both she and Blaise stepped in front of him swiftly.

When Draco peered through the space between them (taking note of their drawn wands), all he could see were scarlet robes, just like the one Ron was wearing.

“Draco Malfoy. You are under arrest.”

Draco recognised the voice of Mulberry, Head of the Auror Department. Of fucking course they’d send their best men for him.

“You can’t be serious!” Ginny’s voice was as cold as ice. “He saved Harry’s life. _Again_.”

“Mr. Malfoy violated seven different laws, including the use of an Unforgivable Curse. I’ll only say this once: _Step aside_.”

All eyes were on him – only Ginny and Blaise, who were still shielding him from the Aurors, didn’t turn around to look at him.

Draco held Rose up for Molly to take, evading her questioning eyes – Did he really use an _Unforgivable_? – and then showed the Aurors his empty hands. He wasn’t really keen on getting attacked by elite combatants.

“I’m going to get up now. Blaise, Ginny, you should really stand down. It’s alright.”

“It’s _not_ alright!” Ginny hissed. “It’s not fair.”

Draco shrugged. He hadn’t exactly expected to get away with it all. If only Harry survived, it would be worth it.

He took a last look at the door, but nobody came out to inform them one way or the other.

He didn’t want to leave, but he had no justified reason to stay. He wasn’t family and there was an arrest warrant with his name on it.

“Maybe it is fair, maybe it’s not.” Draco squared his shoulders, trying for a more dignified posture. “You still shouldn’t get involved.”

But instead of them getting out of the way, Ron stepped up to his boss.

“Sir, Harry isn’t out of the woods yet ... and Draco isn’t resisting arrest. His partner could die. I think it would be reasonable to let him wait with us until we know. You can confiscate his wand until then and I swear he will come willingly.”

“They’re not _partners_ anymore, Weasley.” Mulberry sounded irritated.

“Oh, so _you’re_ the expert on Harry’s private life, are you?”

Ginny put her free hand on her hip. She was trembling, but Draco couldn’t say if it was out of anger or fear for Harry’s life.

“They’re definitely back together, right? Since two weeks ago at the very least.”

Ron looked around for confirmation and all the Weasleys agreed at once, talking over each other like they always did.

Draco had the sudden epiphany that he loved them a little.

“They got back together exactly _three_ weeks ago,” Hermione supplied helpfully. “It was also a Sunday. We were all at that party, remember?”

“That true, Malfoy?”

Draco’s face was unreadable. “Why else would Harry send his Patronus to _me_ for help?”

“Did he?”

Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest to keep his hands from reaching for his wand. That probably wouldn’t go over very well.

“Perhaps you should visit my neighbour, Mrs. Maloney, if you didn’t know about that part. I’m guessing she is very confused right now.”

Mulberry managed to glance at his partner without moving his head an inch. The Auror stepped aside, conjured his eagle Patronus and muttered some instructions.

“What _kind_ of party was it, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco thanked Merlin for Hermione being as quick as she was. He knew _exactly_ what had happened three weeks ago.

“It was Neville’s birthday party. We left at quarter to midnight. Harry never stays longer than that.”

And then Draco had broken both their hearts all over again the next morning. On Harry’s own birthday no less. _Genius_.

He wished he had been strong enough to either persuade Harry to get help or to resist him entirely.

As it was, he had made a colossal mess of everything.

He took another look at the stupidly solid door separating them. Maybe he should’ve stayed invisible.

“Fine. Auror Lancaster, disarm Mr. Malfoy.”

It didn’t matter in the slightest that Ginny and Blaise were still shielding him. Lancaster flicked his wand faster than Draco could look, and his own wand slipped out of his front pocket and sailed straight into Lancaster’s outstretched hand.

The wait was even more unbearable with two grumpy Aurors flanking him, but at least he was allowed to stay a little longer.

If he just knew that Harry would be alright, he could face Azkaban. And if he wasn’t alright ... well, then the worst had already happened to Draco.

He shook his head. He couldn’t think like that. Harry would make it. He had been practically dead half an hour ago and still Draco had managed to bring him here alive.

Samantha joined them a few minutes later. She took in all the people gathered in front of the treatment room and then did a double take at the Aurors on either side of Draco.

“Sam! Thank _goodness_!” Hermione pulled a notebook from her bag and then beckoned Samantha to follow her to a more private corner. “We don’t have any time to lose. There’s so much to do.”

It took twenty whole minutes to instruct Samantha, who gave him a weak, decidedly worried-looking smile when she left.

Somehow that didn’t make him feel better.

~o~

Draco had been staring at a spot of blood on the floor for some time when the door finally opened and Meadows stepped out, slouching his shoulders and barely lifting his feet off the ground.

Draco knew that look, the one you had when you went to deliver the news the second you were finished with your patient. The one where you barely stopped to clean yourself up before you went, because letting the family wait any longer would be unnecessarily cruel.

Draco leaned his head back against the wall and took a deep, shaky breath that set several things loose inside him. He didn’t notice the tears, and if he had, he wouldn’t have cared. The part of him that cared if people saw him vulnerable like this had died in the car crash.

Harry _hadn’t_. That was what mattered.

“He will pull through. I expect him to make a full recovery. He won’t wake up for some time, but you can still see him now, if you’d like.”

Several people gasped and sobbed. Somebody made a noise Draco had never heard before, but he didn’t know who it was and he didn’t really care.

“Come on.” Draco looked up to see Hermione standing before him, holding out a hand for him.

He let himself be pulled up and then glanced at Mulberry, who gave a very jerky nod. “We will escort you inside.”

And so they went inside, Hermione, Ron and Draco with his shadows, both with their hands placed on their wand holsters. Draco wasn’t sure what they were expecting him to do, wandless as he was.

Maybe they thought the others would try to attack on his behalf? Whatever it was, Draco rather thought they were exaggerating.

“ _God_ ,” whispered Hermione, placing both hands in front of her mouth. There were tears in her eyes too.

It really was hardly surprising.

Harry looked more dead than alive, even with the red sand inside his heart vial rising and falling rhythmically. His face and arms were free of dirt and blood now, the scratches mostly healed, but that only meant that his bruises were plainly visible, especially because his complexion was still unnaturally pale.

Draco’s feet carried him over to the bed on their own.

He reached out and placed one hand in Harry’s hair. They had cleaned that too, obviously using one of the stronger cleaning spells. His hair was too dry, even more unruly than usual.

Draco carded his fingers through it, brushing some of the strands across his forehead, hiding the scar. That was better – Harry would hate to have it on display like that.

He pressed a kiss against Harry’s temple and whispered something in his ear. The Aurors didn’t need to hear it. This was just between the two of them.

“Alright,” he said with a final look at Harry’s face. “I’m ready.”

Then he turned his back on Harry before it got too hard to leave him.

He knew that if he looked at him too long, he would never be able to stop.

He squared his shoulders, held his head up high and went out of the room with determination, his Aurors following close behind.

He nearly made it, too. But then Mrs. Weasley stepped into his path, concern etched into her face. And she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a hug, warm and comfortable and a little sad, too.

“Don’t worry, Draco,” she mumbled. “It’s going to be alright. You saved Harry and we are going to look after you.”

Then she placed both hands against his cheeks and smiled at him. She’d been crying as well, but still she managed to convey hope.

Draco smiled back at her and said, “I already am alright.”

And even when the Aurors grabbed one of his arms each and escorted him back outside, and even when they Apparated him to the Ministry and placed him in the holding cell, and even when they gave him the familiar plain blue robes to change into, he _was_.

Harry was alive and Draco was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted the boys to spend more time together, right?
> 
> Okay, so this fic is basically me living out my complete obsession with the whump trope. 😇 Sue me.


	77. All Dressed Up and Naked [Wednesday, August 23rd 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill. Thanks so much to: Justforthedead, pharmacoholic, OfShipsAndFandoms, zarahzoe, Alisha, EmmaGraceWinchester, SimplySomeone, glibstripes, Fan, Slytherinz_Ghost, linellin, bellathebella, ThatBoringOne, M.a., Eddie, chinykawaii, ulysses_the_bird, Zezily, allhailthehales, Elly_dk, antidisasquishafishamentarian, De_Borah, noodledoodlezoo, WildvanillaRose, Hodgies, Mystical.Moose, Anonymous, Jessynotjessie, IzzyShep, minijaxter, Rionaa, Sandal, kylorrren, windowcracks, SHkatty, SlytherinSeaWitch, burninglikeacid, hush_over_the_night, filidoune, Thanotane, illindalenti and yolle! 🥰🥰
> 
> I had a really, really good time reading all about your misery, thanks! 🤗 Also, those were the most comments any of the chapters ever got, I think, which tells me what you really want is to see Harry half-dead all the time? 🤔 I’ll keep that in mind!
> 
> Title: Panic! At the Disco – Emperor’s New Clothes

Several people were on their way to him.

Draco could tell by their approaching footsteps, interrupted whenever they reached another door that needed to be charmed open.

Draco sat up slowly and smoothed out his hair and the robes they had given him three days ago. If they had _finally_ decided to let him see his lawyer, then he wanted to make a good first impression. He guessed that it had taken the Wizengamot until now to decide on everything they wanted to charge him with. Which meant that it had to be a _very_ long list.

Truth be told, Draco _wasn’t_ alright.

He honestly _had_ been three days ago, when the alternatives had been either living in a world with or without Harry in it. Now that Harry was safe and Draco was facing years and years without him, he didn’t feel that good anymore.

They were outside his door now. There were two sharp knocks, which Draco knew wasn’t courtesy but the sound of two wands being rapped against his door at the same time. The door swung open, revealing three figures clad in Aurors’ robes. The tallest of them strode in immediately.

“Draco!” It was Ron Weasley.

Draco shot to his feet and the other two Aurors flinched. Draco thought he recognised them as part of the team that had come to his house after the Prophet break-in.

“What’s happening? Did something else happen?”

Ron shook his head and smiled, for once in his life apparently perfectly aware of what Draco was really asking.

“Harry’s getting better, only they won’t let him leave Mungo’s for another day or two. So he sent me instead.”

“To do _what?_ ” Draco asked carefully.

“To accompany you to the Wizengamot.” Ron handed him a bag. “I went to your house and got you some of your clothes, so you’d better get dressed. You can use the showers first.”

Draco stood frozen, hands holding the bag still outstretched, as if trying to keep all of it as far away as possible. “The Wizengamot? _Now?_ ”

“Of course _now_ ,” said Ron with a frown. “Why, did you want to stay here longer?”

“I haven’t even seen my lawyer yet, Weasley! They can’t just do this! I have the right to see my lawyer before my hearing. They _have_ to tell me the charges beforehand! What the hell is going on?!”

Weasley seemed too stunned to say anything for a second. Then he grinned even more than before.

“Sorry, mate. Should’ve led with this: They’re dropping all charges. Not that they could have done anything else, the way Hermione and Harry put the pressure on them and what with all the articles. You just have to appear before the Wizengamot so they can officially release you. And they have some things to say, of course. For the press.”

Now Draco felt numb all over, like someone had gripped his soul and pulled it right out of his body, like he and his body were two separate entities.

“They ... what?”

“Come on, I’ll tell you on the way to the showers. We’ve only got about half an hour.”

Weasley took the bag from him, completely negating the reason for giving it to him in the first place, and then led Draco out of the cell by his elbow.

“Right, so I don’t actually know all the _details_ – obviously, the Wizengamot hasn’t given their statement yet – but they decided that you did what you had to and shouldn’t be punished. In here.”

Ron held open the door to the shower room, handed him the bag again and then closed the door behind him. Draco stood staring at the door for a few seconds, still not entirely sure he wasn’t just dreaming.

~o~

“ _Weasley!_ ”

Draco pointed an accusing finger at the culprit before he had even fully left the shower room. The sleeve of his shirt rode up several inches, further cementing his point.

“Whoops,” said Ron, cracking a grin. “Maybe you should tidy out your wardrobe once in a while, mate. Those clothes look like they might’ve fit you in sixth grade.”

“Very funny. Tell me, out of _all_ the clothes I own, _how_ did you manage to find the one outfit that doesn’t belong to me?”

Ron just shrugged, still grinning like the bastard he was.

“I just thought these would be the most fitting for the occasion. Besides, they looked familiar.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Hard.

“Of _course_ they do. They belong to _Harry_. It’s his go-to outfit for every single semi-formal occasion.”

“Semi? Looks plenty formal to me.”

“What about my robes? I _do_ have a pair of formal robes, you know.”

“I don’t know, mate.” Ron gave him an apologetic grin. “They looked pretty … stiff, you know? Definitely overkill.”

“Those are my court robes,” Draco said with a sigh.

They were also about the only ones Draco hadn’t sold when his parents had disowned him. There had been no doubt in his mind that he would need them again sooner or later.

Ron just shrugged nonchalantly and took out his wand to charm the clothes to fit Draco.

Now that the legs of Harry’s black jeans were covering his ankles and he could comfortably button up the shirt (the emerald one, which brought out Harry’s eyes and had remained on Draco’s bedroom floor after their disastrous encounter at Neville’s birthday party), he had to admit that he felt a little encouraged.

He supposed it had been nice of Ron to bring him something green to wear. And it was collared, at least. That was definitely something.

Draco finally dared to ask when they were waiting for the lift to arrive.

He had put it off long enough, afraid of the answer, and the longer he waited and Ron didn’t say something of his own accord, the more Draco feared that it wasn’t good.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Olivia …?”

Ron flinched slightly and pressed the button again.

“It’s not … She’s going to live, but it was pretty bad. They moved her to the Royal London yesterday. There’s nothing more Mungo’s can do for her that the Muggles can’t do themselves. And her family and Lauren can visit her there.”

“Lauren wasn’t …?”

Ron shook his head. “Just the two of them.”

The lift arrived and they stepped inside silently, only talking again when the doors had closed behind them and they were on their way down.

Draco’s voice sounded strangely distant. “What’s the diagnosis?”

“Her head’s alright, apparently, but they are still waiting for her to wake up. No telling if she’s going to be paralysed or not. But she’s going to live, and that’s what matters.” Ron sighed deeply and then turned to him with a weak smile. “We know it was you who told Cortez that she’s important to Harry. She survived thanks to you. Both of them.”

Draco looked away to face the buttons again.

He tried to focus on the positive parts – she wasn’t dead. She’d still have her mind. Draco hadn’t ruined her and Lauren’s lives completely.

~o~

“The Wizengamot has reviewed every last piece of evidence brought forth by the Auror Department, including – but not limited to – eye witness accounts given by several Muggles as well as by Harry James Potter.”

The witch paused and adjusted her glasses before continuing to read from her file.

“In light of everything the Wizengamot has learned about the events that took place on the twentieth of August 2006, it could only come to the conclusion that Draco Lucius Malfoy was determined to save Mr. Potter’s life by any means possible and only directed his magic against non-magical individuals as a last resort. It is therefore the decision of the Wizengamot to drop all charges against Mr. Malfoy and order him released at once.”

The witch closed the file and sat back down. Several camera flashes went off at once.

He felt dizzy, completely thrown for a loop. Even knowing beforehand that they would let him off the hook, Draco still hadn’t fully believed it. And now he really had been forgiven the use of an Unforgivable Curse.

Draco looked over at Blaise to see what he should do next. The Wizengamot had judged him innocent, but somehow, he didn’t feel like he was dismissed. The last time he had been before the Wizengamot, they had told him that he was free to leave in no uncertain terms.

Blaise caught his eyes and motioned with one hand to stay seated. _He_ certainly seemed to know what was going to happen next.

“For the next item of business,” said the wizard holding the agenda, “we are joined by Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

The door behind their table opened on its own, and there he was: The Minister for Magic himself.

The chairs seating the members of the Wizengamot slid apart, revealing an empty spot smack in the middle. The Minister stepped forward to stand in that place, taking one slow, sweeping look at the room and then settling on Draco.

“It is my honour and privilege to stand before you today –”

Draco’s head was spinning. This couldn’t be happening, right? They were playing an elaborate prank, for sure. Any time now the Minister would start to laugh, and then everybody would point their fingers at him and laugh as well, laugh at how he had really believed that they would ever even consider _him_ for something like that.

There was a sudden silence, and several cameras flashed again.

Draco focused on Shacklebolt again. He was looking right back at him, a small frown starting to form. Draco’s stomach dropped. What had he missed? Was he supposed to say something?

He looked over at Blaise and the Weasleys in panic. All of them were pointing at him and then a spot in the middle of the room in quick succession.

Draco took a deep breath and got up. Shacklebolt’s expression cleared and he went around the table. They met in the middle of the room and Draco took the Minister’s outstretched hand. Shacklebolt started talking again in his deep, resounding voice.

Draco didn’t really listen – there were the cameras for one, blinding him from his left. But the bigger distraction was his wand, which the Minister was holding out to him. Draco hesitated for a second and then took it.

Shacklebolt said something else and then took out his own wand and pointed it at Draco’s chest, which felt like it would burst open with the erratic beating of his heart. There was a flare of heat and then a slight tuck at his shirt.

And then it was over. The Minister let go of his hand and then Blaise was at his side not a second later, followed by most of the Weasley clan.

“Alright,” said Ginny, clapping her hands once, “now that’s over with, let’s get out of here before the vultures can get a hold of us.”

~o~

Harry was lying on his side, facing the door.

His eyes were closed, but fluttered open only seconds after Draco entered. Harry blinked a few times, as if trying to get him into focus, and then gave Draco the most tired smile he had ever seen. He said something inaudible and then struggled to push himself up.

Draco was almost too relieved to see him to chastise him. _Almost_. He strode over to sit at his bedside, so Harry would stop trying.

“Merlin help me, Potter, would you please, for _once_ in your life, do what the Healers tell you?”

Harry grinned some more and let his head fall back into the pillow. “Nice jewellery,” he whispered.

Draco followed Harry’s eyes to his own chest, where the Order of Merlin, Second Class was still shining brightly, almost obnoxiously so. He took it off and let it fall onto the bedside table.

“You can have it, if you like it that much.”

“Already got one of those, though.”

“Yes, but this one comes with a purple ribbon. For _‘Saving_ _Britain’s Greatest Hero’._ All capitalised, probably. Haven’t got one of those, have you?”

Harry grimaced and shook his head just so. “Green. Who want’s _that_?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said deliberately. “It’s pretty nice, as far as colours go. As long as your ex-”

He stopped himself before he could say _‘ex-boyfriend’s best mate’_ and then started all over again.

“You know, as long as _somebody_ doesn’t give you a bloody green shirt to wear on the day he _knows_ they’re going to pin a bloody purple ribbon to it.”

“Sorry,” said Harry, though he didn’t really sound like it. “Guess they’re gonna call you Hulk now.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what the fuck you’re talking about, Potter. As per usual. But it’s alright, it’s probably the concussion talking.”

“Shut up.” It seemed like Harry was trying to slap his arm, but he didn’t quite manage to lift his hand high enough. He was still grinning though.

Draco had never felt happier.

~o~

“So,” said Harry an hour later. “Finally decided to return my shirt, have you?”

Draco looked up from the chart he’d been studying while Harry slept, and returned his sleepy smile with a rather uncertain one of his own. “Not just the shirt.”

“No? What else did you nick from me?”

“Your jeans,” said Draco, pointing at them with his quill. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Harry just looked at him and kept silent, which really was a testament to how tired he must have been feeling. Draco stuffed his notes inside Harry’s chart and put all of it on his bedside table.

“I’ve realised that I have been a proper idiot.”

Harry looked like he was going to say something, but since it took him forever to even open his mouth, Draco didn’t have any trouble beating him to the punch.

“You’ve been an idiot too, _obviously_. Beating up whoever so much as looked at you funny, fucking stupid. Still, I think I’d rather be right there by your side when you do it.”

“Do you really?” Harry tried lifting his hand once more and then flopped it over when he failed. Draco took it in his own and squeezed it lightly.

“I do. _Somebody_ has to stitch you back together when you get your arse handed to you, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry smiled. His fingers twitched underneath Draco’s and Draco squeezed back.

When Draco kissed him softly, his lips were rough and dry, and still it was one of the best kisses they had ever shared. When Harry’s eyes fell shut a few minutes later, there was a smile on his lips.

~o~

Draco hadn’t expected it to be this bright, even in the afternoon sun that managed to find its way through the blinds.

He hadn’t even really expected it to take form at all.

Alright, somehow, he _had_ , because honestly, what could be a happier memory than beating death itself, saving your friend as well as your lover and winning him back, all while evading prison and getting awarded one of wizardkind’s highest honours?

But then again, he still _was_ Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, all around disaster. He hadn’t really been expecting to _ever_ get it.

“Is that –?”

Harry had woken up and was blinking repeatedly, like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Draco couldn’t either, if he was being honest.

“Is that a kestrel?”

Draco snorted. He couldn’t help it – it was just that absurd, coming from Harry of all people, who should’ve recognised it right away. “A _kestrel_? Really? Why, are you thinking about transferring to Kenmare?”

“Well, it’s a bird alright,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “I’m not an orni-thingy, with the birds.”

“Sure,” said Draco as the Patronus landed on the foot of Harry’s bed. “One can’t expect somebody to recognise a specific bird they don’t see every day.”

_Or wear said bird splashed across the cape of their Quidditch robes all day every day for years._

Harry squinted at the bird as it folded its wings. It took him a few seconds, but then he looked back at Draco with uncertainty.

“Call me crazy, but that _does_ looks like a falcon. And kestrels _are_ falcons.”

“You’re the ornithologist,” said Draco simply. “But I’ll have you know that even though all kestrels are falcons, not all falcons are kestrels. And this is not a kestrel.”

“You can lecture me all you want, but you won’t come out on top,” said Harry, grinning at him. “I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger.”

“Way to make it all about you,” Draco said, though he couldn’t hide his own smile completely. “There are actual studies about Patronuses, you know? They tend to look a bit further than _‘my boyfriend plays for the Falcons, that’s why my Patronus is one’_.”

“Alright, tell me.”

Draco knew what most of the Patronuses meant.

The stag: Wanting to protect those around you by all means, but also a symbol of rebirth.

The falcon: Renouncing your darker sides and choosing the lighter path instead. Reinventing yourself for the better.

“I’ll have to look it up.” Draco dropped his wand on the bedside table and the Patronus vanished suddenly. “I’m not Hermione, you know?”

“You’re so far gone, it’s almost pathetic.” Harry closed his eyes again.

“ _Yes_. It really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can’t believe you thought I could kill my girls! 😧 I’m definitely not going to bury my gays. Honestly, you people ... Where do you _get_ these ideas?


	78. Won’t Back Down [Monday, August 28th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much: zarahzoe, Justforthedead, SHkatty, night, Alisha, pieragrine, Zezily, noodle-doodlezoo, EmmaGraceWinchester, Rionaa, SimplySomeone, linellin, Elly_dk, Slytherinz_Ghost, AcadianProud, Speedy_Typhoon, SlytherinSeaWitch, Icedmochalester, windowcracks, Anonymous, Grace Kudla, De_Borah, AlluraBelle, Kattyaalexa, Eddie, ThatBoringOne, kylorrren, Fan, yolle, filidoune and WildvanillaRose! 😊
> 
> Your comments are all so beautiful, no matter how long or short or what your first language is! I’m grateful for all of them, so thanks a million! 😘

The owl reached him just as he was about to re-enter Harry’s wing.

It was small and unimpressive and Draco had never seen it before. It kept knocking at the window with its beak, causing the Auror on duty to give his wand a nervous twirl.

“Can’t be for Harry,” Draco said in an attempt to sound reassuring. “All his post gets redirected to his assistant Samantha.”

“Must be for you, then,” the Auror said. “I’m untraceable while I’m on duty.”

Draco frowned. Nobody ever sent him post, except for Harry and Blaise. And Harry certainly hadn’t written this one, and Blaise always used one of his five imposing snowy owls.

Draco had long since gotten the idea out of his head that his parents could deign to write to him. And even if they did, they would never use such an unremarkable owl. It was the kind of owl you used if you didn’t want to attract too much attention.

“You think someone could be trying to get at Harry through me?”

The Auror squinted at the bird, said, “Let’s find out,” and then strode over to open the window resolutely.

The owl gave an indignant shriek as the spell washed over it, revealing absolutely nothing of interest.

“Seems to be fine,” he said, grabbing the whole owl and handing it to him. “And it’s addressed to you.”

Draco let the owl take hold of his outstretched arm, nodded once at the Auror and finally entered Harry’s private wing. He wasn’t keen on opening the letter in front of an Auror. Even if the letter wasn’t cursed, he still expected it to be some kind of hate mail.

He took the scroll from the owl along the way, unrolling it just as he pushed open the door to Harry’s room. The letter was surprisingly short and Draco had to read it two times until he understood the meaning.

_Draco,_

_it seems that you were right._

_Meet me Wednesday at 3 pm, same place as last time._

_Best,_

_P.M._

“Who’s that from?” Harry asked, having watched him read the letter with great interest.

“My secret admirer,” Draco said drily.

For a lack of parchment (he didn’t want to use the same one in case it got intercepted), he grabbed one of the many Chocolate Snitch cards scattered on Harry’s side table (Seeker Georgina Thompson of the Holyhead Harpies), scribbled _‘Agreed. D.M.’_ on what little empty space was on the back and offered it to the owl.

It gave him a look that might have said, _‘Are you serious?’,_ but grabbed the card and then squeezed through one of the windows that stood ajar.

“And you’re already sending them Chocolate Snitch cards?” Harry said with a small, dopey grin courtesy of one of his many, many potions. “Must be pretty serious.”

“Well, you know what they say: The Auror Department’s holding cells really bring people together.”

Draco dropped into one of the visitors’ chairs and unwrapped another Chocolate Snitch, eating the chocolate and offering Harry the card depicting Sage Wilkins, Keeper for the Tornados.

“Very funny,” Harry said with a tired grin. Draco didn’t know if it was tired because Harry was exhausted or because the joke wasn’t that good, but he didn’t really care either. The important part was that Harry was grinning in the first place.

Harry placed Wilkins’ card on top of the pile, probably because he thought he owed her for trying to catch him when he’d had his accident on the Lightning Blast.

Draco leaned back in his chair and took off his shoes. He placed both feet on Harry’s bed and then, when Harry tried to tickle him, moved them further away from his hands.

“And really?” Harry finally asked.

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. You should’ve gone to sleep half an hour ago.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Harry argued (despite the trouble he had keeping his eyes open).

“And your nap was scheduled for half to,” Draco said pointedly.

“ _Babies_ take naps.”

“And you’re certainly _acting_ like one right now,” Draco said, summoning Harry’s chart from the table and pointing out the passage to Harry. “It’s prescribed right here. _‘At least half hour naps every three hours.’_ ”

“Tell me who sent the owl. I can’t wait until tomorrow!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll tell you. _After_ your nap.”

He pointed his wand at Harry’s bed and cast another mild warming charm to speed up the process.

Harry’s glare at being dismissed turned into an expression of bliss and comfort. He turned over onto his side with great care so he could look at Draco properly. Opening his eyes after every blink was taking him longer already.

“I’ll hold you to that ...”

“You do that,” Draco said with a smile. “I will be right here.”

Draco half expected Harry to wake up precisely half an hour later, just to prove his point, but he slept for another hour.

Draco whiled away the time by sorting the Chocolate Snitch cards. There were thirty-two cards on the side table and Draco was willing to bet that Ron was responsible for eating at least half of the chocolate. That man really had no restraint.

Draco picked out Timothy McCarthy’s card and flung it in the trash. Harry’s mood always soured whenever he got one of those, and Draco could relate. He was just happy that reserve players didn’t have cards. Draco would probably have to ban Chocolate Snitches altogether.

He sorted the remaining cards by teams and then stashed them neatly on top of the side table.

Harry’s hand shot forward before Draco had time to react. He flinched as the icy hand took a hold of his wrist, and nearly knocked down the whole stack.

Only four months apart and he had already forgotten not to startle Harry in his sleep. He could count himself lucky that Harry’s accident had depleted his magical reserve and left him quite empty, or else Draco might’ve been blasted off his feet.

They looked at each other for a second, and then, instead of letting go, Harry pulled at his wrist, moving to make room in his bed. Draco lay down next to him, so they were face to face.

Harry gave him a sleepy smile and pulled him closer, placing his head underneath Draco’s chin as well as a small kiss on his neck. He lay one hand against his cheek and then ran a careful finger over the scar at Draco’s ear, right where he had Splinched the very top off.

Draco embraced him carefully, placing his arm on Harry’s instead of laying it across his freshly healed ribs.

Harry inhaled deeply and Draco was sure that he was going back to sleep. Maybe Draco would close his eyes as well.

“So, who sent the letter?” Draco could hear the grin in his voice and sighed silently.

He wasn’t sure how Harry would react. He had been against approaching McAllister when they had tried to break into the Prophet headquarters. He had forbidden Draco from showing Cuffe’s stash of notes to anyone.

It was just that Draco couldn’t very well keep this from him if they were back together. Better to get it over with now while it didn’t yet count as keeping secrets.

And besides – McAllister seemed to have found something. Didn’t that validate Draco’s decision?

“Two months ago, I had a meeting with McAllister.”

“The Prophet’s – ?!”

“Yes,” Draco cut across him. “We met at the pub. I asked him to look into your case, try to find out who’s behind it.”

“And he _agreed_?”

“I convinced him that it was affecting Quidditch,” Draco said defiantly.

“You _lied_?”

Draco rolled his eyes, even if Harry couldn’t see it. “It wasn’t a _lie_. I didn’t say that influencing Quidditch was the _reason_ for it all. I pointed out correlation, not motivation.”

“What did he write?”

“I think he has discovered something. The letter was very short and _very_ cryptic. Could be that he’s worried the owl might be intercepted. I’m meeting him the day after tomorrow.”

“ _We_ are meeting him,” Harry stated firmly.

“No way!” Draco leaned away so he could look Harry in the eyes. “You won’t be dismissed for at least another week.”

It was clear that Draco would have a hard time convincing Harry. His eyebrows were firmly set and there was resolution in his eyes.

“If he’s worried about interception, it must be dangerous.”

“I’m not taking you.”

“I’m not letting you go there alone!”

“I’d like to see you try to hold me back.”

“I’m stronger than you,” Harry said with a glare.

Draco laughed. “You can’t do magic. I think I can take you on. _Speaking_ _of which_ , how exactly are you going to protect me from potential dangers without magic?”

Harry looked close to growling. “I’ve still got two days. Maybe it’ll come back until then.”

“Trust me, it won’t. Your body uses all the magic it can get to heal you.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Harry actually growled now. “Then I’ll just come as a deterrent. They probably won’t attack me.”

“ _Probably?_ Is that what we are going off now?”

“It’s not my fault people like me better than you –”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Draco tried to sound outraged, but he couldn’t help but be amused by the blunt statement. “My Order of Merlin would like to disagree.”

“Second class,” said Harry pointedly. “Also, how many national holidays do _you_ have?”

“I’m not taking you because you are _famous_ , Potter!”

“You’re taking me because it’s _about_ me. I won’t take _‘No’_ for an answer.”

Draco sighed deeply. “I can’t take you there. What if one of the waitresses tells your Muggle friends that you were there? You are supposed to be heavily injured.”

“I’ll just wear the Cloak.”

“You can’t wear the _Cloak._ It’s full to bursting in there.”

“Fine,” Harry said stubbornly. “I’ll wear a glamour, then.”

“You think McAllister will talk to me if I just bring some stranger along?”

Harry groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. “ _Fine_. No glamour and we meet him somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“Any other Muggle place. There’s a Muggle cafe at Elephant and Castle. Lauren and –” Harry broke off and closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. “The girls took me there once.”

This was the first time either of them mentioned Olivia, and Harry was obviously eager to leave the topic behind. Draco wasn’t really keen on talking about her either. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to look him in the eyes. He was definitely dreading their joint therapy session scheduled for Thursday.

“I can’t just tell McAllister to meet me there instead,” Draco objected. “What if somebody really _does_ intercept his owls? He didn’t specify the meeting place in his letter for a reason.”

“ _Merlin’s underpants_ , Draco. Meet him at the pub and take him to the cafe, if you must.”

It suddenly became apparent to Draco that he had made a fundamental error in getting himself into this discussion. He’d thought the meeting place issue a good argument and hadn’t been prepared for the unlikely case that Harry would diffuse it. He couldn’t exactly fall back on his argument that Harry was still indisposed after he had already moved on from it.

“I _still_ think it’s a bad idea,” Draco said despite all of that, because he really did. “The Healers probably won’t even let you go.”

“Stop moaning,” Harry said, pulling him close again. “I’m going with you.”

And that was that.


	79. But Still Your Secrets I Will Keep [Wednesday, August 30th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much: WildvanillaRose, SlytherinSeaWitch, Justforthedead, yolle, ulysses_the_bird, chinykawaii, Alisha, pieragrine, EmmaGraceWinchester, ulysses_the_bird, Anonymous, Elly_dk, filidoune, Zezily, Slytherinz_Ghost, Rionaa, windowcracks, minijaxter, SHkatty, kylorrren, allhailthehales, Icedmochalester, Fan, ThatBoringOne, SimplySomeone, adventurous_potato, deviantgumiho and Speedy_Typhoon! 😊
> 
> As always, your comments made my tiny little heart beat faster! 💗
> 
> Title: 3 Doors Down - Kryptonite

“I don’t like this.”

Draco pushed the wheelchair through a small gap between two tables, which magically widened to let them pass and narrowed as soon as they were through. None of the Muggles took any notice.

Harry, who had only agreed to the wheelchair after a whole thirty minutes of arguing and on condition of wearing a glamour that concealed his injuries, tilted his head back so he could look at Draco.

“I’ll be fine. I know how to deal with Muggles. Besides, you’ll only be gone for five minutes.”

“Still,” Draco said, removing a chair from a four-person-table in the far corner so the wheelchair would fit.

The cafe was definitely not for the handicapped and the only possibility was to place Harry facing the wall. This meant that Harry _did_ get nervous after all. He hated having his back to the door and being a temporary Squib couldn’t have been making things easier.

“I _could_ still take you back to Mungo’s,” Draco offered.

Harry glared at him and squared his shoulders.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated. His left hand, which hadn’t been broken, fiddled with the glamour that hid his injuries in an obvious attempt at calming his nerves. “It’s only for a few minutes. Off you go, then.”

Draco rolled his eyes and left.

~o~

He had a feeling that Sarah the waitress had been waiting for him to show up. He’d barely stepped through the door when she descended upon him, dragging him to the side by an arm.

“You’re not meeting _him_ again, are you? What about Harry?”

“I don’t _know_ , Sarah. What _about_ him?”

“He’s loads better than that old toad.” She pointed over her shoulder to where Pembroke was sitting in the far corner. “He came in with a _briefcase_. Who brings a briefcase to a _pub_? On a _Wednesday_ no less.”

Draco pulled his arm out of her grip with a _very_ unimpressed look. “People who come here to do _business_?”

Sarah scoffed and looked over her shoulder. “In a pub?”

“You are right. We should go somewhere else,” Draco said with a mild smile, seizing the opportunity.

It was obvious that she hadn’t heard about the accident, or else she would have asked after Harry. Then again, that wasn’t very surprising. Draco didn’t suppose that any of the others had had much reason to visit a pub during these hard times.

Draco left her to meet Pembroke, who spotted him immediately. He certainly seemed jumpy and paranoid, and was holding his briefcase in a vice grip at his side.

Draco stopped in front of his table, placing both hands on the back of an empty chair so that Pembroke could see that he wasn’t armed. He didn’t know why Pembroke would think that in the first place, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

“Change of plans,” Draco said, after inclining his head as a way of greeting. “We’re moving to another location.”

Pembroke made no move to stand up. The grip on his briefcase tightened and he licked his lips nervously before answering in a slightly quivering voice, “How do I know you’re really Draco Malfoy?”

Draco blanked. How did you prove your identity to somebody who didn’t know you all that well?

“I don’t know. Do you want to see my wand or something?”

“You could’ve stolen that from him before coming here,” Pembroke said after a second’s hesitation. “Besides, I don’t know what wand he’s supposed to be using.”

Draco sighed, already on edge. Harry was waiting for him alone, injured and magicless, and he had to prove himself to a bloody Quidditch correspondent?

“You can ask me something, I suppose.”

“Everything I know about Draco Malfoy was from our last conversation. You could’ve found about that.”

“Well, _why_ did you ask me here if you are not going to trust that it is really me?” Draco could do nothing to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Pembroke didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

Draco was running out of patience. He was dying to know what Pembroke had found that made him so paranoid.

“Alright,” Draco said. “I’ll tell you the address and you can meet us there. You can even check it out from the outside before coming in.”

“ _Us?_ ” Pembroke said, eyes narrowing. “Who else is there?”

Draco took a step back, letting go of the chair. Then he said, almost incidentally, “Harry’s waiting for us there. I couldn’t take him _here;_ some of these people know him.”

Pembroke opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking gobsmacked.

“Harry?” he finally said in a throaty voice. “ _Potter?_ ”

“That’s the one,” Draco said, still extremely casually.

He flicked his wand inside its pocket and the address scribbled itself on an unused beer mat.

“Meet us there. _If_ you are still interested.” Draco turned without waiting for a response.

Sarah’s eyes followed him all the way outside. She looked like a student who had just been told that History of Magic was cancelled.

~o~

In the few seconds it took Draco to pass the cafe’s window front and open the door, Harry had turned around three times. He seemed nervous and twitchy, and he noticed Draco almost immediately, which resulted in a relieved expression upon his face.

He grabbed Draco’s wrist as soon as he was in reach and directed him to the chair directly across from him, which meant that he could watch Harry’s back.

The relief made way for confusion when he noticed that Draco was alone. “Did he stand you up?”

Draco shook his head, eyes focused on the door. “He was there, just doubtful that I am really me. _Real_ paranoid, that man. I told him to meet us here. I guess we will have to see if he shows.”

“Well, _that_ sounds bloody ominous.”

They waited for five minutes, during which Harry turned around often enough that the other customers started to notice. When he did it for the twenty-seventh time, Draco placed his hand over Harry’s in an attempt to keep him still.

“Will you stop that?” he hissed. “People are looking at you like you’re mentally challenged.”

Harry grumbled and pulled his hand away. “They’re not looking at me. It’s like I became invisible as soon as I sat down in that stupid wheelchair. Nobody even came to take my order.”

“You _wanted_ to come here.”

“I wanted to meet _McAllister_ , not sit here and wait for an eternity.”

“Want me to take you back to St. Mungo’s?” Draco offered. “Only McAllister will probably get really suspicious if I am by myself after I advertised you like that.”

“ _Advertised_ –?”

“I just told him you’d be here. To boost our chances.”

Draco cast another glance at his watch, which told him that they had been waiting for six whole minutes now.

He was starting to lose hope when the bell above the door chimed again. Draco’s eyes were drawn towards the entrance instantly. Harry turned around again.

It wasn’t McAllister who had come in. Swearing, Draco grabbed Harry’s shoulders and dragged him back around before the newcomer could get a look at his face.

“Ouch, what the hell, Malfoy?”

Harry really didn’t like being restrained. The muscles in his upper arms were flexing like he was only just holding back.

“So, what, _you_ can look and I can’t?”

“ _Shush_ ,” Draco hissed, shuffling so he was (hopefully) hidden behind Harry. “Don’t turn around. _Fuck_.”

There was a nervous twitch underneath Draco’s hands now. It was apparent that it was taking Harry all his restraint not to turn around to check what the problem was.

“What is it?” he hissed back.

Draco chanced a peek and then instantly pulled back again. She was coming in their direction now, and Draco realised with a start that there was still one unoccupied table left in their corner. One look at Harry’s bird’s nest of hair and she would recognise him instantly.

“Draco, what is it?” Harry hissed again, this time with a clear note of impatience.

Draco shushed him again, desperately searching for a way out.

They couldn’t Apparate from here. He couldn’t hide Harry under the Cloak, not with all those Muggles present. He couldn’t change Harry’s appearance either, not after all those Muggles had clearly noticed him. Besides, he didn’t know if it would even work while Harry was wearing the glamour.

Maybe he could Confound her? But Harry wouldn’t like it and Draco was already on thin ice with the Ministry after what he’d done on the day of Harry’s accident, Order of Merlin or not.

“ _Harry?!_ ”

Harry flinched massively. His shoulders tensed up like he was trying to retreat into his own body.

The glamour!

Draco shot forward, placing both hands on Harry’s neck.

“Ella,” he muttered.

The necklace came loose under his hands. He slipped it inside his sleeve and leaned back in his chair just as Ella Reyes rounded their table, flinching at the sight of Harry.

“ _God_ ,” she whispered as all colour left her face.

She grabbed the back of a chair for support. Her messenger back slipped from her shoulder and Draco only just managed to catch it. She didn’t look like she would be able to hold it, so he leaned it against his chair.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Harry muttered, clearly uncomfortable.

She laughed, desperate and humourless, and then sank down on the chair she was clutching.

“You look even worse than Olivia.”

Draco certainly believed it. Olivia had been stuck inside the car. Harry’s whole face had obviously come into contact with concrete. The scratches were healed, but the tissue was still swollen, the skin all black and blue. The eye patch he still had to wear over his left eye didn’t really help either, nor did the wheelchair.

“It’s going to be fine,” Harry said silently. Draco knew that he hated to worry his friends. “How’s Liv?”

Ella shook her head. “It’s bad. We only got to see her yesterday. She’s still really out of it, barely even awake. And her spine’s badly damaged. Lauren said that maybe ...” Ella took a deep breath, directing her eyes towards the ceiling. “Maybe she won’t walk again.”

The image of Olivia inside the wreck, unconscious and jammed in, made its way into Draco’s mind quite uninvited. He didn’t want to think about it – how he had just left her there in favour of Harry.

It wasn’t that he regretted it. He felt guilty and partly responsible, yes, especially because he’d had the skill and opportunity to help. But still he would’ve done it all over again, given the chance. Had he found Harry any later, he surely would’ve been dead.

It was just that Draco hadn’t told anybody about what he’d done. He knew that Harry would have a hard time knowing that Olivia could’ve been helped much earlier and hadn’t been because of him.

Draco couldn’t tell him.

Harry’s lips were pressed together tightly. His eyes flickered towards Draco’s and Draco knew that he was wondering if maybe there was anything else that Draco could do. He had healed Harry’s paraplegia, after all.

Draco shook his head just the tiniest bit.

The ugly truth was that the damage was harder to heal the longer the injury existed. And Muggles were inherently more difficult. With his usual patients, Draco manipulated their magic as much as he used his own to speed along the healing process. You couldn’t do that with Muggles, obviously.

The Healers had saved her life after the accident and done what they could. The rest was out of their hands.

Harry took a shuddering breath. “Fuck.”

Ella nodded gravely, searching his body with her eyes in clear concern. “What about you?”

“Harry’s going to be alright,” Draco said just to get Olivia off his mind. “Once all the bones are properly healed, he’ll have to do physical therapy to get his strength back, but we are confident. They even let him out of the hospital for a couple of hours.”

Harry nodded along absentmindedly.

Ella gave him a weak smile. Her hand twitched in his direction, like she was about to take his hand or stroke his arm, but then she seemed to decide against it, maybe because she didn’t want to hurt him.

“The others will be glad to know that _you’re_ alright at least. We’ve been all so worried. We’ve been wanting to visit you, but Hermione said you weren’t well enough.”

“It was a rough week,” Harry said tonelessly. “Could you tell Lauren ... tell her ... I’m sorry for what happened with Olivia.”

“It’s not your fault, Harry. They told us there was a dog on the road.”

Harry shrugged, avoiding her eyes.

“I asked her to take me to yoga with her. I even ditched a match to meet up with her. She wouldn’t have been there if _I_ hadn’t asked her to come and get me.”

Ella did take his hand then, fixing him with a determined look. “You couldn’t have known it would happen. You didn’t ask her to do anything especially dangerous. How could you meet up with anyone again if you’d blame yourself if something happened to them on the way there?”

Harry smiled half-heartedly. He clearly _did_ think that he would be fully responsible if such an occasion ever occurred. Draco would have to put it on the list of things Harry should talk about with his Mind Healer when she came by for their next single session.

Ella smiled back sadly. “Absolutely nobody blames you, not Lauren or anyone. It was just an accident.”

Then – maybe because it was the only part she could touch without fear of hurting him – Ella ruffled Harry’s hair a little, smiling at him fondly.

“Stay in touch, alright? Else we’ll start to worry again.” She turned around to Draco, who leaned back slightly, just in case she was thinking about touching his hair too. “You too, Draco. Don’t be a stranger.”

Harry frowned, but he didn’t voice what was bothering him. Instead, he nodded and watched as she took her bag, which Draco was holding out to her, and went to search for a free table, as the one directly next to them was occupied by that point.

They didn’t talk for a few minutes afterwards. Harry kept glancing over to where she had set up her small, foldable computer on the only free table left at the opposite corner of the cafe.

“Maybe we should leave,” said Draco carefully. “You can’t put the glamour back on while she is still here and – fucking _fantastic_ , there he is.”

Harry grimaced. “Guess we’ll see which side he’s on when the Prophet comes out tomorrow morning.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. He probably worships the ground you kick off of, he won’t risk you disliking him.”

“Great,” muttered Harry. He wasn’t turning around anymore.

“Just _try_ to be likeable, okay?”

Harry frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not everybody likes being insulted by you as much as I do.”

“It’s not like I do it on purpose.” Harry rearranged his hair so it was covering his scar properly.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Not like you can prove it.”

Draco shushed him with a stern look. “Here he comes. Play nice.”

“I don’t have to play; I _can_ be nice!”

Draco gave him his sweetest smile (which was one hundred percent fake, naturally) and jumped to his feet as Pembroke finally reached their table.

“Pembroke! Thank you for coming. Harry, this is Pembroke McAllister, who very graciously accepted to help us.” Draco looked from Pembroke to Harry, who held out his hand. “And this is Harry Potter, of course.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Harry.

His smile turned rather strained when Pembroke’s expression slipped from excitement to shock as he got a good look at Harry’s face.

Harry gestured at his wheelchair, trying for a casual grin. “I’d get up, but that could take a while. Please, have a seat.”

Pembroke let go of his hand as if he suddenly realised he was still holding it and sat down. He seemed a little lost for words, and his eyes kept darting back to Harry, like he didn’t want to stare but couldn’t help himself.

Draco could see the irritation rising in the set of Harry’s shoulders, even though he was still smiling his most fabricated smile.

“So,” said Draco before Harry had a chance to snap. “You mentioned you found something?”

“Oh,” said McAllister, finally prying himself loose.

He placed his briefcase on his lap, took out a thick folder and opened it in the middle of the table. On top was a handwritten list consisting of dates and then a few keywords.

“Right. Yes. I think you were right, Draco.” – Draco ignored Harry’s pointed look – “I really think whoever is feeding Cuffe the information is doing it to mess with Quidditch.”

“Really?” they said at the same time – Draco impressed and Harry in apparent disbelief.

Draco gave Harry a look that said _‘I told you so’_ , even though he hadn’t told him so at all and Pembroke only as a pretext to get him digging.

“I cross-referenced the information you gave me with the Prophet archives. There wasn’t really anything interesting at first, only the corresponding articles. But then I got to _this_ one.”

Pembroke pulled out a newspaper clipping. It was from the Prophet’s Quidditch section. The title read _‘FALMOUTH FALCONS TAKE BEATING, WIGTOWN WANDERERS REACH TOP OF THE LEAGUE’._

The photo was of Harry touching down hard and stomping off the pitch, dragging his broom over the ground like he had half a mind to beat somebody to death with it. Then he reached the front of the photograph and yelled something at the reader (or, which was more likely, the photographer behind the camera).

Harry grimaced and pushed the clipping back towards McAllister, who said, “This was in the Prophet on December 1st 2003\. And on November 30th, the morning of the game …”

He pulled out another clipping, which was basically a full-page photograph of a young woman lying in bed and sleeping. The picture was obviously taken from above, probably through a rooflight.

Harry snatched it away just as Draco managed to decipher the headline. ‘HARRY POTTER DATING MUGGLE WOMAN!’

“Maybe you should let me handle this,” Draco said carefully. He leaned over the table and took the paper from Harry. It was crumbled, so Draco smoothed it out before slipping it underneath the file. “You don’t really have to look at all of it.”

Harry gave him a very hard look and then focused back on McAllister. “So, there’s more?”

“Yes. Finding the articles got easier after that one too, because ... well, there were significantly more of them. So, the next two articles I could connect were these.”

There was an article from early 2004 featuring details about the dementor attack on Harry and his cousin and revealing that it had actually been Dolores Umbridge who had orchestrated it.

Draco definitely remembered that, even if he never read the papers. Harry had apparently been pulled from a match because of it, to help the Aurors investigate how that classified piece of information could have found its way out of the Ministry.

Similar things had happened several more times – Harry had missed matches or underperformed after personal information had been leaked, some of it scandalous or just plain private.

“I also …” Pembroke sighed deeply, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say, “checked Witch Weekly.”

He placed two other cut-outs next to each other.

The first one was the Witch Weekly article about Cho Chang from January. The second was an article from the following Monday, titled _‘KESTRELS’ COOPER CLARKE SNATCHES SNITCH FROM UNDER POTTER’S NOSE’_.

By the time Pembroke showed them his last piece of information, it was quarter past six, Ella had been gone for a whole hour and Harry’s eyes seemed dull and lifeless, which worried Draco. He had expected Harry to get angrier with every article, but he just seemed exhausted and so, so tired of it all.

Harry livened up when he saw two of the last articles. Witch Weekly’s ‘ _The heart-breaking truth about Harry Potter’s birthday’_ and, from the Prophet’s Quidditch Section, _‘FALCONS BEAT CANNONS 530 – 450 IN FIVE HOUR SAVIOUR’S DAY SPECTACLE’._

Harry frowned and pulled the article closer.

“That one doesn’t fit, though. The Cannons could have won, but they _didn’t_ because of the whole spectacle about my bloody birthday. That means we won _because_ of the article, not _despite_ it. All the other instance caused us to lose points or even the whole match.”

“Maybe they miscalculated,” Draco thought out loud. “I mean, you were pretty distracted, right? Maybe they thought that would cause you to lose and they didn’t think about whether or not the opponent would dare catch the Snitch.”

“I think that’s most likely,” said Pembroke, looking from Draco to Harry. “Everything afterwards fits the mould.”

He turned seven clippings to face them.

‘THE CHOSEN ONE’S CHOSEN ONE’

‘FALMOUTH FALCONS SCRAPE WIN AGAINST PUDDLEMERE UNITED’

‘MEETING THE FAMILY’

‘POTTER FOULS TORNADOS’ MCCARTHY, EARNS SUSPENSION – MATCH CANCELLED’

‘POTTER BREAKS IT OFF WITH DEATH EATER’

(Draco nearly laughed out loud – of course they had framed it like that.)

‘MCCARTHY VS. MCCARTHY – FALCONS SLAUGHTERED’

‘HARRY POTTER GRAVELY INJURED – FALCONS VS. ARROWS CANCELLED’

“Outing your relationship resulted in your suspension, and even though the first match against the Tornados was cancelled, McCarthy completely froze when she had to play against her brother during the rematch.”

Harry nodded numbly and Pembroke pointed his pen at him.

“I also heard that you passed up that match against the Arrows just two hours before kick-off. And I’m ready to go out on a limb and guess that had to do with all of this as well?”

“I …” Harry cleared his throat and pushed all the clippings together and back into the folder. “I didn’t feel up for it.”

Draco tried not to focus on the fact that Harry had been in the car because of him. If Draco hadn’t messed with him on his birthday, Harry probably would have played the match against the Arrows and he wouldn’t have been with Olivia.

Really, Draco didn’t think about that, or he would have no other choice but to go down that same road of guilt Harry was on already.

They were there for another hour, speculating about all the possibilities. But in the end, only the person responsible would be able to explain the convoluted thought process behind it all.

And even though Pembroke promised to keep an eye on Cuffe, who that person was remained a complete mystery.


	80. No Pain, No Gain [Wednesday, September 6th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justforthedead, IzzyShep, Slytherinz_Ghost, darkenedtides, De_Borah, SimplySomeone, Fan, SHkatty, kylorrren, Alisha, EmmaGraceWinchester, powderbleu, ulysses_the_bird, Hime_chu, Anonymous, You_Wish, AlluraBelle, windowcracks, extPec, extPec, Rionaa, filidoune, Zezily, WildvanillaRose and big3! 😊
> 
> Less than two weeks remaining, that’s so crazy! 😱 Keep the theories coming 😉

“I need your help.”

Nash looked up from her Veela romance novel to scrutinise Draco over the top of her sandwich. She thought about it for a second and then said in a bored tone, “I’m on break, but I could lend you one of my trainees.”

Draco’s nose wrinkled. “They won’t do. I need someone _competent_.”

Nash put her sandwich down and leaned back in her chair, draping one arm over the back of it. “I’m listening.”

Draco dropped his stack of folders and books onto the table and sat down opposite her.

“Remember when that witch came in who got run through with an actual sword, and you said you would _‘honest-to-Merlin cut me’_ if I snatched that case from under your nose?”

She nodded, a reproachful look on her face. “Still can’t believe you did that to me.”

“Well, I hope you don’t have plans for after our shifts.”

~o~

“Are you really sure?”

Harry was pacing the room, eyes darting from his battered old watch to the patch of naked chest visible under Draco’s unbuttoned shirt. He’d just rolled out of bed, but that wasn’t the reason his hair looked messier than ever.

Draco stopped his last-minute reading in favour of giving Harry a look that hopefully conveyed that he was being overprotective and also _ridiculous_.

“Why is it that you are way more worried _now_ than when I did it on you?”

Harry dragged both hands through his hair again. “That was different.”

Draco gave him a once-over and then looked up at the ceiling.

“When we started on you, _this_ –” Draco shook the parchment he was holding, “– was just a theory. Now we’ve got actual experience we can build on. The worst that could happen is that we all get blasted off our feet.”

All he received was a fleeting glance, and then Harry was pacing again.

“But last time _you_ were the one doing the healing. What if she doesn’t know what she’s doing?”

A groan escaped Draco. “Merlin help me. She was one of the people who saved your life last month. Have a little faith, would you?”

“ _You_ saved my life,” Harry said. He went on before Draco could protest. “All I’m saying is, why don’t we continue testing it on me?”

Now Draco actually rolled his eyes. They had been over this several times, but it felt like Harry’s brain reset every time they broached the topic again. Maybe he was an actual moron.

“Great idea,” Draco said sarcastically. “Tell me, which scar do you want me to use?”

Harry stopped pacing and pulled up his left sleeve, revealing the long, straight line where Wormtail had cut him. Draco resisted the usual urge to rub the scar on his own left arm and just shook his head.

“I can get rid of that, if you want, but that won’t help with my research. It is not _cursed_ , remember?”

“Oh,” said Harry tonelessly. “I forgot about that part.”

His hand went up again and then Harry actually pushed his hair back, uncovering the lightning bolt scar.

Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s not actually cursed anymore, as you know,” he said slowly. “However you did _that_.”

Draco did have a theory, but it involved actually _dying_ , and he wasn’t eager to include that part in his research. It certainly wasn’t _useful_.

“And even if it were still cursed, I would never try something this experimental in direct proximity to your brain, however small it may be.”

Had Draco had a choice, he wouldn’t have tried it anywhere near Harry’s heart either, but he didn’t say that.

He also didn’t mention that Harry was a highly unusual subject, due to the aforementioned dying, and that Draco needed to make sure that normal people reacted the same way he did.

Harry threw something small at him in retaliation, and Draco managed to summon it out of the air before it landed off-course and near the rubbish bin.

It was Harry’s Quidditch ring, and Draco slipped it on. Harry’s eyes narrowed, a clear indicator that he hadn’t thought the whole thing through before throwing and wasn’t exactly happy that Draco now had what he needed for this experiment.

Draco smirked at him. “Get a grip, Potter.”

“Someone’s coming,” said Harry suddenly, stepping away from the door.

“Oh, so _now_ you can tell? Would have been useful the last time we were here.”

Harry poked out his tongue in the second it took until the door opened and then gave Nash his most perfect smile.

“Oh, you brought your audience,” she said, looking from Harry to Draco.

Then her eyes slid down from his face to his bare chest. She never stopped smiling, but Draco could tell that it was just due to her professionalism. Maybe he should’ve warned her.

“Someone’s got to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid,” Harry said, leaning against the now closed door.

Well, that was rich, coming from the most reckless bastard in all of Britain.

Draco exchanged a look with Nash, the one Healers gave each other when they couldn’t talk in front of their patient but very much wanted to communicate that they didn’t believe a word he or she was saying.

Nash took a seat on the examination stool and Draco leaned back, revealing as much of his chest as he could without having to take off the shirt. Nash put on sterile healing gloves and then leaned over him so she could have a proper look.

“You do know what you’re doing, right?” Harry left his post at the door and made a spare chair roll over so he could sit down right beside Nash.

Nash stopped her examination to squint at him. “You do know I could just kick you out, right?”

Harry gave her another one of his too perfect smiles and held up both hands in defence. “Just making sure.”

Nash sighed deeply and gave Draco a dramatic look. “Don’t you just love having friends and family present when you try to treat a patient?” 

“I’ll be quiet,” Harry said, pretending to zip his mouth shut.

“That will be the day,” said Draco wistfully. He propped himself up and pointed at the smallest of his scars, just above the navel. “I think you’d best do that one. It’s furthest away from the heart and relatively minor.”

“You got it,” said Nash.

She sterilised her scalpel while Draco snapped a few photographs of the scar and Harry watched both of them, bouncing his legs nervously.

“Alright,” said Nash, leaning over Draco’s notes. “Step one is to make sure your magic is contained.”

Harry turned to frown at her and said suspiciously, “Didn’t you read that before coming here?”

Nash gave Draco a very pointed look before glaring at Harry over her shoulder. “It’s called _‘being thorough’_. Do you want to do it instead?”

“Just ignore him,” said Draco apologetically, “He is just not made for academics. And also not very good at following instructions.”

“Well, he’d better zip it for real if he doesn’t want to _distract_ me.”

“Sorry,” muttered Harry. He dragged his chair closer and placed both hands in his lap, holding his wand tightly.

Nash turned back to Draco with a dramatic eye-roll. “Alright, step one. Go on, Malfoy.”

Draco raised his wand and said, “ _Lumos_.”

Nothing visible happened, but there was a small tug somewhere inside his chest, where he knew the centre of his magic was. It felt strange and Draco wondered if that was Harry felt during a match.

“Perfect.” Nash had his Quick-Quotes Quill make a note while she coated his stomach with essence of valerian. Then she held up the scalpel. “I’ll start cutting away the scar tissue now. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” said Draco determinedly.

Harry, on the other hand, had never looked less ready. His lips were pressed together tightly and his fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles were as white as they got. Draco considered making him wait outside, but he knew Harry would just flat-out refuse.

“Don’t look so tense,” Draco said, trying for a light tone. “You did it two times already and you claimed it wasn’t that bad.”

Harry glared at him and crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, _I’m_ used to it.”

Draco had to prop himself up on his lower arms so he could have a proper look at this idiot’s face. Nash was trying very hard not to look at either of them and ended up sterilising her scalpel a second time.

“I survived getting these scars, so I think I will manage.”

Harry recoiled like he’d just been slapped. Draco sighed and slammed himself back onto the treatment table, staring up at the ceiling.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s going to be alright, so could you _please_ just shut your mouth and let Nash do this?”

Draco couldn’t see him in this position and Harry kept silent, but Nash leaned over his chest, so Draco suspected that he’d given some kind of consent.

“Alright, I’ll start now. Remember to tell me if anything feels strange.”

Something touched his stomach. It felt ice cold for a second and then, all of a sudden, burning hot as Nash sliced into his skin. Draco focused all his attention on taking deep breaths, but he could do nothing against the tension in his body.

A cold hand closed around his own and Draco squeezed it tightly.

By the time Nash was almost done, Draco was drenched in sweat and light-headed. Her voice seemed strangely far away.

“Ready for the final cut?”

Draco nodded and felt a slight tug as she pulled the skin taunt and cut it free.

Something inside his chest seemed to rise suddenly, like a tide coming in.

 _‘Would have been nice if Harry had_ mentioned _that last time’_ , Draco thought irritably. Then he reminded himself that maybe it hadn’t been anything unusual for him.

Nash let out a harsh breath and said, “ _Vulnera Sano.”_

The burning subsided immediately until there was only a very faint throbbing sensation left. His skin felt slightly itchy, but Draco refrained from touching it.

“Looks good,” said Nash. “So that were steps two to five – numbing, cutting, detaching and healing. I’ll do the aura spell now.”

Draco stayed down while she did it. Harry’s hand was oddly clammy, and he was tracing circles on the back of Draco’s.

Some of the pressure inside his chest eased as she distributed the flow of his magic, spreading out in all directions and warming his blood.

“Looks stable to me,” she said firmly. “But I’ll cast a shield just to be safe.”

Draco squeezed Harry’s hand and let go.

“ _Protego_.”

Draco cleared his throat and brought his hands together at his chest. He wasn’t going to sit up for this step, just in case. He didn’t want to get slammed against the table like Harry had last time. _His_ brain wasn’t used to getting knocked around that often.

“Step seven,” he said. His voice sounded a little hoarse, so he cleared his throat again. “Remove the magic suppressant.”

He took off the ring and felt his nervousness drop suddenly when nothing happened.

His arms shook like mad when he tried to push himself up, but then Harry’s hands were at his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position.

Draco looked down at his stomach, but where the scar had been there was only pale skin now. He touched it gingerly and found it perfectly smooth.

His fingers were trembling though, and his legs were jittery as well.

“You could have told me it was that unpleasant,” Draco said, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

But Harry just punched his shoulder, a big grin on his face and eyes gleaming. Draco could tell he was holding himself back.

“You did it!”

“Yes,” said Draco slowly, and then his face was breaking into a smile all of its own. “That wasn’t a disaster at all, was it?”

Nash gave a nervous laugh, startling them both. “No, that was brilliant! Congratulations, Malfoy!”

“Except for the part where I was fully conscious,” muttered Draco, but then he was laughing too. “I think it’s safe enough to put me under next time.”

Draco picked up his wand and summoned his parchment to make a few adjustments. To his surprise, his hand steadied as soon as the spell was cast, and Draco felt some of the jitteriness leave through his wand.

He changed step two from _‘numb’_ to _‘sedate’,_ added step eight _‘drain excess of magic’_ and then took another photograph of his stomach.

“Thanks, Nash. I owe you one.”

“No prob,” she said, dropping her gloves into the rubbish bin. “Well, I’ve got to run, Jarret is probably waiting already.”

Draco exchanged a look with Harry, who just seemed confused by that. Which really was no wonder, because Harry neither knew Abrams’ first nor last name.

“You’re not back together again, are you?” Draco asked incidentally.

Nash laughed at the question. “We’ve been back together for at least a month.”

Draco grimaced. “So, about that …”

Harry got up, muttered, “I’ll wait outside, then,” and fled.

Nash frowned, suspicion clear on her face, and looked back at Draco, who took a deep breath.

“So, I can’t actually tell you who it was, because I’d probably get fired if I did and also, we were kind of blackmailing each other, so maybe don’t tell him how you know –”

“You’re rambling, Malfoy. Just tell me.”

“We caught Abrams with another woman when we last did this scar thing in February …”

Out of the three of them, Draco never would have thought that _Nash_ would end up hurt the most that day.


	81. Taking Back the Crown [Sunday, September 24th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments: Justforthedead, SlytherinSeaWitch, Fan, SHkatty, kylorrren, Zezily, Anonymous, Speedy_Typhoon, ThatBoringOne, EmmaGraceWinchester, filidoune, powderbleu, Slytherinz_Ghost, SimplySomeone and ulysses_the_bird! 😊
> 
> Last chapter’s title wasn’t necessarily from ‘Sucker for Pain’, as it’s a figure of speech, but it could be, I guess, and I do like the song!
> 
> Title: Panic at the Disco! – Emperor’s new clothes

“What do you think you are doing?”

Harry stopped buttoning up his bottle green robes to look at Draco, who was leaning against the doorframe to his clothes closet.

“I’m trying these on for your thing tonight. It said dress robes, right?”

For a second Draco didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t even _considered_ the possibility that Harry would be coming with him.

“You can’t come,” said Draco bluntly.

Harry frowned. “Yes, I can. It says so in your invite.”

Draco shook his head. “It says _‘plus one’_.”

“Yeah,” Harry said pointedly, like he thought Draco was stupid. “ _That’s_ me.”

Harry was finished with his robes now and trying to tame his hair with his wand, as if he didn’t know that only made it worse.

“You’re Harry bloody Potter. Not _‘plus one’_.”

That term just didn’t fit the Saviour of the Wizarding world. If anything, it was _‘One plus Harry fucking Potter’_.

“I can be,” Harry said resolutely. “I’m the Chosen Plus One.”

Draco groaned and leaned his head against the doorframe as well. “I’m going to leave you here for that joke alone. Terrible.”

“Don’t you _want_ me to come?” Harry had stopped fussing with his hair and was now looking at him in the mirror.

No. There was no way in hell Draco would drag Harry to a gala full of strangers. Especially not when he still wasn’t cleared for Quidditch and nobody had seen him in public since the accident.

“Your presence will only distract from my brilliance,” Draco said loftily, rubbing his left arm absentmindedly. “Also, I was going to wear those robes.”

Harry turned around to look at him properly now. “You were going to wear _my_ robes to your fancy gala?”

“Your robes _are_ fancy. I know you think clothes are posh as soon as there is a button on them, but Samantha really knows what she’s doing. So do the heroic thing and let me have them, would you?”

“But green is Potions …,” Harry said distractedly, running a hand through his hair and ruining what little order there had been left after his attempt at taming it. “And you’re on Trauma. Trauma is blue.”

“And my research is on _curse_ scars, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in red.”

“Thank Merlin,” Harry said. He came over to lean in the doorframe as well, facing Draco and interlocking their feet. “Red’s not your colour.”

“What?”

“You're too pale for red. I like you in blue.”

“What.”

“It brings out your eyes. I always thought you looked really fit in your scrubs …” Harry trailed off, but Draco just looked at him and kept silent. Harry rambled on after barely a second, ruffling his hair again. “I mean, not that I would’ve gone there _just_ to look at you, I mean – it’s still Mungo’s, so don’t you go persuading yourself I ever went there because of you ...”

All Draco had to do was raise an eyebrow, and on he went.

“It was just nice to have something … nice to look at while I was there, at least. You know, even though you were a massive prat most of the time I was there.”

Draco grinned and said, “I really need you to take off those robes, though.”

Harry kicked his foot lightly and bumped his head against the doorframe.

“Really? I make a fool of myself here and you’re just gonna focus on the robes?”

“I _really_ want to wear them tonight, so we can’t have them get all wrinkled.”

And Draco flicked his wand before Harry could even begin processing, causing all the buttons to open at once. He leaned over, slung both arms around Harry’s waist and kissed him deeply.

~o~

Harry was prodding the massive green-and-yellow bruise covering his cheekbone. He obviously wasn’t satisfied yet.

Hermione was tapping her wand nervously and chewing on her lower lip. “Harry, are you really sure about this?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Can you just make it a little smaller? And not as bad looking.”

Draco leaned across Harry’s kitchen isle to have a closer look and then glanced down at the photograph they were using as reference, the one a Healer had taken for his file, just an hour after the accident.

“It’s pretty accurate,” Draco judged, trying to resist the urge to heal Harry right this instant. “That’s what your Muggle face would look like a month after.”

He kept telling himself that Harry wasn’t really hurt anymore, but it was hard when he looked like that.

“I just want it to look a little less repulsive. Just so she won’t … you know. Feel that bad about it.”

Hermione pressed her lips together tightly and got to work modifying Harry’s glamour. It took her another thirty minutes until Harry was remotely satisfied.

“You’re sure you don’t want any of us to come with you?” she asked.

Harry shook his head. He grabbed an umbrella from its hook on the wall and transfigured it into a walking stick. He had flat-out refused to go visit Olivia at the hospital in a wheelchair.

“You’re supposed to help with the moving, remember? It’s better to get it finished today, while they’re distracted. And I don’t want Lauren to have to worry about that stuff.”

“He’ll be fine,” Draco told her firmly, partly to convince himself.

He clapped Harry on the shoulder that wasn’t in a sling, even though he knew it was just part of his disguise and both of them didn’t really hurt.

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbed Draco around the waist before he could withdraw again and pulled him into his arms (well, just the one arm, but still).

Draco hesitated for a second and then kissed his forehead, telling himself not to care that Hermione was _right there_. Harry was right – compared to what they’d gone through in the last months, this really wasn’t too bad.

Harry’s family knew Draco was an actual person with actual human feelings. No shame in showing it, right?

They let go after a few seconds and both took a few steps back, despite everything Draco had just told himself. Still, it was a step in the right direction. Figuratively. 

“Now remember,” said Draco, clearing his throat and very much not looking at Hermione. “You have one arm in a sling and the other is holding the stick, so you can’t just go for your hair like you usually do. Also, no hasty movements. Just imagine your body is one giant bruise.”

“Wow, I _wonder_ what that feels like,” said Harry sarcastically. He limped over to the door in a very convincing fashion and then turned to face them both. “And you remember to do it properly. You can’t move houses in two hours, so drag it out, and make sure Ella and Callum don’t see you using magic.”

They both nodded along, even though Hermione surely knew how Muggles moved. Draco guessed that Harry was just trying to cover how nervous he was.

“No shrinking and levitating,” Draco repeated obediently. “I’ll see you tonight, after the gala.”

Harry took a deep breath, gave them both what he probably thought of as a confident smile (which was a little wobbly around the edges, but Draco wasn’t going to point that out) and Disapparated.

Alright then. Time for them to get a fuck-ton of stuff out of Lauren and Olivia’s apartment and transport it all across town to their new, wheelchair-accessible flat. Without displaying any signs of magic.

Piece of cake, right?

~o~

If Draco hadn’t mastered the Patronus yet, he surely would’ve been able to do it after tonight.

He hadn’t known it until now, but one of his deepest desires was apparently this: Sitting at the International Healers’ Gala and watching Chief Cortez have to praise him for his publication on the healing of curse scars.

Well, going up there and presenting his findings, and seeing all these internationally renowned professionals actually _listening_ to him wasn’t half bad either.

But if he had to pick a Patronus memory, he’d still go with the sour, barely contained look on Cortez’ face when she had called him up to join her on the podium.

Now Draco was making the rounds, holding his glass of champagne in the left and shaking a million hands with the right. He had no trouble at all remembering their names – he’d heard almost all of them before, and often.

There was Clarice Navarro, for example, who had invented the Navarro technique. Patil had used that to determine the exact potion Harry had been poisoned with one and a half years ago.

At the moment, Draco was in deep conversation with Eloise Giordano. To his surprise (and absolute delight), she had actually heard of him before from her daughter Amara, whom Draco had met at Slughorn’s party last year.

She was just telling him about Amara’s holiday internship at St. Helén’s Hospital in Paris, when the noise level suddenly picked up a notch. Her eyes flickered towards the entrance and then back to Draco, never interrupting her story. Whatever had happened didn’t seem of much interest to her.

“I really wished more students would complete an internship before starting their training at St. Mungo’s,” Draco said wistfully. “Some of them are just not cut out for Healing.”

“I could name a few of them off the top of my head,” said Harry suddenly, plucking the glass from his hands and taking a sip. He pointed at his lower arm. “One of them fused this one bone to the other and vice versa when I broke them a few months ago.”

Draco was much too confused by his sudden appearance to chide Harry for his appalling manners. Giordano certainly seemed taken aback, but she got her face back under control in a rather impressive fashion and offered her hand.

“Eloise Giordano,” she said politely, and Draco was not surprised that she looked approachable even despite her regal posture.

“Harry Potter.” Harry shook her hand and then pointed at her with Draco’s champagne. “You invented that vaccine against dragon pox, right?”

Her mouth broke into a delighted smile. “Yes, I did. And everybody here knows who _you_ are too, don’t they?”

Oh, boy, here they went again. Draco glanced at Harry, whose smile had turned a little strained. There was the flash of a camera and Harry flinched a little.

Well, at least there was just the one press representative present.

Also, Draco _had_ told him so.

“You were Draco’s test subject, were you not?” Her smile widened when Harry nodded enthusiastically, looking simply ecstatic. “I’m sure I read your name in the research paper.”

“That’s me!” Never had Harry seemed so excited to be recognised.

Giordano glanced at the hand that was holding the champagne. “May I see?”

It wasn’t a demand – just a polite request, and Harry jumped at it. He switched the champagne to his left hand and then held out his right.

Giordano was very respectful about it. Her hands ghosted an inch above his, not actually touching as she examined his wrist and the back of his hand. Draco was sure that she was itching to cast a diagnostic charm as well, but that would have been horribly impolite and she didn’t ask.

She dropped her own hands, smiled at Harry and then nodded approvingly at Draco. “Very impressive, Draco. Not a trace of them left.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed instantly, sliding his free arm around Draco’s waist and making him jump in surprise. “Amazing, isn’t he?”

Was Draco’s left eyebrow twitching? He really hoped he was only imagining that. Well, he certainly _wasn’t_ imagining the confusion written all over Giordano’s face. Draco held out his hand again and gave her his most polite smile as she shook it.

“It was really nice talking to you, Eloise. If you’d excuse us, I need to talk to my … partner. But please do send me a copy of the Russian research paper.”

Draco didn’t wait a second too long before placing his own hand on Harry’s back and pushing him over to a fairly empty corner of the room.

“Really?” Draco whispered, “I tell you not to come and what you hear is _‘Be sure to make a dramatic entrance_ ’?”

“No,” Harry said, handing the glass back to him after all. “I heard _‘This gala is really important to me, but I don’t want to burden you with that.’_ ”

Draco took a deep breath and let his eyes sweep the room for a second. Yes, people were _definitely_ still looking.

“You’re _late_.”

“I thought you didn’t want me here?” Harry crossed his arms, but the corners of his mouth were definitely twitching.

“Well, if I _have_ to have you here, I would rather you be on time.”

“What, and listen to you complain about me stealing your thunder for the next decade?” Harry shook his head and pretended to straighten the front of Draco’s ice-blue dress robes. Almost incidentally he asked, “So, what happened to green?”

As if he didn’t know what had happened to green – _Harry_ was currently wearing it.

“Well, I didn’t know you would _be_ here, did I?”

A crooked grin spread across Harry’s face. “So, you wouldn’t have worn the colour I like on you if you’d known I’d _see_ it?”

“I wouldn’t want this to get to your head.”

“Too late,” said Harry, full-out grinning now.

“How is Olivia doing?”

Harry sighed. “She’s incredible, really. Her nurse said she’s never seen someone work harder on getting better. She sends her love.”

Draco nodded half-heartedly. “The new flat looks really nice … Bright. I think she’ll like it …”

Harry took Draco’s hand and held it tightly. They stood like that for a few seconds, caught between hope and sorrow. Then Harry smiled softly, squared his shoulders and said, “Alright, tell me who to rave to about you next.”

Sighing, Draco looked around until he found somebody interesting to talk to. Discreetly, he nodded over to a group of German Healers. “Them, I guess. But you’d better behave yourself.”

“When did I ever not?” Harry said, sounded highly amused. Then he quickly changed the topic before Draco could list all the occasions. “So, since when am I your ‘ _partner’_?”

“Published Healers don’t have _boyfriends_ , Potter. Use your brain.”

“Why?” asked Harry innocently. “I’ve got you to do the thinking, right? I’m just the brawns.”

“Don’t let them hear,” said Draco. “I can see the headlines already: _‘Harry Potter just piece of meat to Hero Healer Draco Malfoy’_.”

“ _‘Hero Healer’_ , huh? Didn’t know we were still on that.”

Harry stole Draco’s glass again, emptied it and then handed it back to him as it refilled itself. Draco raised his eyebrows at him.

“And I didn’t know you still stole drinks, but here we are.”

Harry just grinned and pulled him along by the hand, heading for the Germans.

“If you already drank from it, it’s probably safe.”

Draco placed a hand over his heart, even though Harry’s back was turned and he couldn’t see it. He was sure the gesture would be audible through his voice. “I never knew you cared so much about me.”

Harry beamed at him over his shoulder. “Oh, you have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re nearing the conclusion! So exciting!


	82. Let’s Start a Riot [Friday, October 13th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to the commenters: Justforthedead, M.a., Anonymous, pieragrine, Fan, big3, Rionaa, ThatBoringOne, Slytherinz_Ghost, Jade_Blanc, glibstripes, Zezily, AcadianProud, Speedy_Typhoon, Eddie, windowcracks, SHkatty, Alisha, EmmaGraceWinchester, filidoune, WildvanillaRose, kylorrren, Bookmysterr, De_Borah and PureSlytherin! 😘
> 
> So, you seem to be pretty divided over whether Harry showing up there was inconsiderate or thoughtful. 😅 To all the bingers coming across this note at a later date: Please remember to get enough sleep!
> 
> Also, you might have noticed that the total chapter count went down by one. That’s because I merged two chapters 😉
> 
> Title: Three Days Grace – Riot

Draco knocked over his inkwell when the door to the break room was torn open. Swearing, he picked up his wand and absorbed the spilled ink with a spell before it could soak into his curse scar article for _Headways In Healing_.

“Thank Merlin you’re still here!” Draco looked up to see Trainee Healer Schuster standing in the door, completely out of breath and a harried look in her eyes. “You didn’t answer the Protean.”

“I took it off,” said Draco, which really should have been rather obvious, seeing as his shift had ended nearly an hour ago and he wasn’t on call.

“You have to come down to Trauma,” said Schuster urgently. “Right now.”

“How urgent is it, Schuster? I’m not really here, you see, so unless someone’s dying –”

“It’s Potter,” she said suddenly. “They just brought him in.”

Draco rolled up his parchment, telling himself to keep calm.

Harry was at St. Mungo’s all the time. That they informed him specifically didn’t have to mean that it was serious. Harry had just made him his emergency contact again, that was all.

“What’s the diagnosis?”

Schuster made a face and beckoned him to follow.

She filled him in on the way downstairs. “He’s not exactly cooperating, so we don’t really know. A Bludger hit his head and they healed his skull on location, but he woke up when he got here and since they took off his gear it’s been a real mess.”

Two other Trainee Healers almost ran into them at the bottom of the stairs and stopped short when they saw him, which told him that they’d probably been sent to search for him as well.

“Thank Merlin,” one of them said, and then he held the door open for Draco just as somebody inside yelled, “We’ve got a fighter!”

Trauma was in shambles. Healers were scrambling all over the place. It was entirely unclear who was calling the shots – people were just shouting over each other and it was all underlined by the sound of a scuffle.

Draco rolled his eyes, pushed up the sleeve of his wand arm, and marched towards the place where the chaos was thickest, passing a group of mediwitches who were debating whether it was unethical to just knock out the Saviour of the Wizarding world, especially if they needed at least three simultaneous spells to do it.

“HANDS OFF!”

Harry was sitting on a wheeled stretcher, surrounded by his own protective bubble. He was strapped to the stretcher from the waist down and fighting off several Healers, who were trying desperately to push him onto his back and immobilise his arms too. This proved to be difficult, because the shield was blocking all of their magical attempts and they found themselves in the unfamiliar situation of having to do it by hand.

“Potter!” said Draco firmly.

Harry’s head whipped up and his eyes found him, and Dayal used the distraction to attach one of the restraints to his right wrist. Harry growled and wrenched his arm away before Dayal could fasten the other end to the stretcher.

“Stop that!” Draco said firmly, crossing the distance quickly.

The other Healers were still trying to subdue Harry, who seemed to have forgotten about Draco again.

Draco raised his voice. “ _Stop_ it. You’re only making it worse!”

But then Dayal pulled on his end of the restraint around Harry’s wrist, yanking him onto his back.

“ _No!_ ” Draco shouted, too late.

A low boom resonated deep inside Draco’s chest and he only had a split-second to realise what was happening before a wave of magic rolled over all of them.

Draco was pushed back several feet. His hair was blown out of his face and his scrubs fluttered around him madly. The necklace seemed to jump against his chest.

It was over in a second, and Draco was the only one left standing.

Everybody else had been knocked off their feet, forced away from the epicentre that was Harry. All of them had lost their wands.

Harry was on his back, breathing hard.

Draco stepped up before any of the Healers could get to their feet and decide that they _really_ wanted Harry out of it now.

Harry must’ve seen him coming out of the corner of his eye, but Draco caught his fist easily. Harry growled like an injured (but furious) animal, his eyes wild and unfocused. After a second, he seemed to recognise him and some of the tension left his body.

“Draco! Thank _God_! I’ve got to tell you something!”

There was movement all around them as Healers and mediwitches got to their feet and went off in search of their wands. They kept glancing over at them, as if afraid they’d have to defend themselves a second time.

“Any reason why you won’t allow them to heal you?” asked Draco incidentally, starting to untie his wrist.

“They said they’d knock me out, but I’ve _got_ to talk to you first!”

There was much protest from all sides when Draco started to undo the restraints at Harry’s thighs too, but one look silenced them effectively.

“They’re not going to _‘knock you out’_ ,” said Draco with a look over his shoulder at Dayal, daring him to disagree.

Dayal, who was rubbing his lower back, glared at them.

“They’ll just give you some sleeping potion so they can check to see that everything’s alright with your brain.”

“I’ll forget!” Harry protested.

Draco looked around, but nobody seemed to know what that meant.

Talking nonsense was definitely _not_ a good sign and neither was this latest outburst of power – Draco had really thought that it had gotten better since the accident.

“It will only take a few minutes, half an hour at most,” said Draco calmly. “Just like last year, remember? When that Harpies’ Beater smashed your head in?”

“I _have_ to remember, Draco! If I don’t tell you now, I’ll forget and then it’ll just go on!”

The other Healers and mediwitches were getting restless again, shifting on their feet and fingering their wands. Draco half expected one of them to just jump at the chance and make a move while Harry was distracted. He could already picture the mayhem _that_ would cause.

“Alright, you can tell me,” said Draco in his calmest voice. “But then you’ll let them examine you _properly_. Deal?”

Harry nodded hastily. The movement seemed to cause him a considerable amount of pain, and he bowed his head and grabbed it with both hands.

Something moved behind Draco, and he grabbed Dayal’s arm to keep him from raising his wand.

“We’ve got a deal,” he hissed, anger coursing through his veins like ice-cold fire. “Do you _want_ to provoke him?”

Dayal glowered at him, but lowered his wand now that the chance was gone.

Draco turned back to Harry, who seemed blissfully oblivious of what had just happened. “Alright, what do you want to tell me?”

But Harry just looked around at all the people present, eyes lingering on Dayal just a second longer, and said in a rush, “Not _here_. In private.”

“That’s fine,” said Draco before anybody could protest.

Several people stepped forward and Harry tensed like a rabbit in a den of snakes. Only that rabbits typically _ran_ and Harry was definitely ready to _strike_ a second time. Maybe _he_ was the snake.

Draco raised his voice so everybody could hear. “We’ll just go into a treatment room and after you have told me, I will go get a Healer – _one_ – to examine you.”

Harry shook his head frantically, grimacing. “No, I want _you_ to do it, you can _do_ it, right?”

Dayal stepped forward and immediately the air around Harry grew static. Draco’s hair stood on end, and he was sure the others felt it too. Several of them took steps back.

“Your _boyfriend_ is not allowed to heal you, Potter. You _know_ that and _he_ knows that too.”

“Yes, _thanks_ ,” said Draco irritably.

He raised both bed rails with a flick of his wand, grabbed one side and wheeled Harry over to the nearest treatment room, forcing a group of mediwitches to make way hastily.

He was very aware of the fact that the whole Trauma Ward was watching them, though nobody seemed to have a camera ready. Poor planning on their part, really.

Harry grabbed Draco’s shoulders as soon as the door fell shut behind them. His grip was much too hard, but his hands were trembling. The look in his eyes could only be described as mad.

“ _Somebody_ attacked me, Draco! At practice!”

Draco placed both hands over Harry’s, but he didn’t let go. “What do you mean, somebody _attacked_ you? They said you got hit by a Bludger.”

“Somebody messed with that Bludger! It’s _McCarthy_ , I’m telling you! She wants to take my spot next Sunday. She did it. I swear, she did it.”

“ _How_ could she mess with the Bludger? They’re locked up after practice.”

“I don’t know _how_ she did it, but she did! It kept following me. That Bludger was completely out of control!”

Draco nodded along, even though his suspicion was growing deeper by the second.

This sounded very much like what had happened during their second year at Hogwarts. Harry probably had a concussion and had trouble keeping his memories apart.

“Alright,” said Draco, still nodding. “You told me, so know _I_ can remind _you_ when you wake up. And then we’ll see to it that there’s an inquiry, alright?”

But Harry shook his head, even though it made him grimace in pain. He was also shaking Draco slightly.

“You’ve got to take it, so I won’t forget! You’ve got to!”

“Take what?”

“The memory! I _know_ I’ll forget! You have to keep it safe for me!”

Draco groaned inwardly, but kept his face in check.

He just wanted to get this over with so they could examine Harry before any potential damage became irreparable. But he knew it was no good to argue with him, and there was no way he could subdue Harry.

Draco smiled mildly and tried to free himself from Harry’s grip with minimal force. “Okay, I will take care of it. But you have to let go of me so I can find a vessel.”

Harry let go at once, sitting back but watching him like a hawk, like he was worried Draco could _leave_.

Draco rummaged through the supply cart and produced an empty vial. When he looked up, Harry was holding his wand. Somebody _really_ should have taken that from him, but Draco guessed that he had started to act up before they could.

Draco held out his empty hand. “No magic until you are healed. Come on, I will take care of that too.”

Harry hesitated for a second before he handed over his wand. Draco tried not to show his relief as he put it in his left sleeve. Then he raised his own wand.

“Okay, what do I have to do?”

Harry took Draco’s hand in his and guided it so the wand was placed against Harry’s temple. He screwed his eyes shut, obviously concentrating hard, and drew Draco’s hand away after a few seconds. There were shiny silver threads clinging to his wand and Draco placed them into the vial and put in the stopper.

“Alright,” said Draco. “Now that everything is taken care of, I will go and find you a Healer. Okay?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. He seemed much calmer now, not as twitchy. His fatigue seemed to finally reach him and he actually lay back on the stretcher. “But _not_ –”

“What do you take me for, a _moron_?”

When he opened the door, there were a whole bunch of people waiting right outside, and Dayal was at the front. Immediately he made to go inside, but Draco didn’t budge.

“Malfoy, let me in,” he said through gritted teeth. “I know him better than any other Healer here.”

“You don’t really think he’d let _you_ close enough to heal him, do you?” Draco gave him a disparaging look and scanned the crowd to take stock of his options. “Nash, great! Do you want the case?”

Nash immediately shouldered through the crowd, under heavy protest (most of all from Dayal). Draco let her in and slammed the door in their faces.

Harry was a textbook patient now that his paranoia was satisfied. When Nash handed him the potion, he just glanced at Draco for reassurance and then emptied it at once.

Draco watched as she examined Harry thoroughly and diagnosed a small fissure of the left clavicle in addition to the obligatory concussion.

~o~

Aurelius nearly pushed him over when he stepped out of the Floo.

Draco took a minute to pet him and then quickly went about packing a bag for Harry, who was going to have to stay for at least a day. He also took off his scrubs and switched into something more comfortable.

There was a clinking noise when he threw his scrubs at the laundry bin.

Draco had already forgotten about the memory. He fished it out and watched the mist swirl inside on his way downstairs. They’d have to wait until Harry was home and could open the attic before they could watch it, but if Draco was being honest, there probably would be no need.

Also, time was running out. Draco had left Harry five minutes ago and he wanted to be there when he woke up.

Draco dropped the vial into his clutter drawer, the one with everything that didn’t fit anywhere else – quills, parchment, toothpicks, rubber bands, that sort of things. That counted as safekeeping, right?

Not that Harry would really _want_ that back when Draco informed him about the scene he had made. But maybe they could have a laugh about it later.

He filled up Aurelius’ food bowl and water dish and then remembered at the last second to inform the Weasleys. Hermione wouldn’t know about all of this yet, because _Draco_ was now Harry’s contact.

Something warm blossomed inside Draco. It felt _nice_ being that person for someone, even if the occasion in and of itself wasn’t all that great.

Draco produced his falcon Patronus and sent it to Hermione with short information about the accident and the reassurance that everything would be alright.

Aurelius started whining when he realised that Draco wasn’t staying, and for a split-second he debated just taking the dog with him. If Harry was still freaking out, Aurelius would surely be able to calm him down.

But in the end, he was going to a _hospital_ and there was no way he could smuggle in a fully-grown dog.

~o~

Harry was just stirring when Draco entered his room a few minutes later. He blinked a few times and then managed to fixate on Draco. A dopey grin formed on his face as Draco came over and dropped into the chair.

“Hey,” said Draco, smiling back. He shoved Harry’s bag underneath the chair and then placed his wand on top of it. “How’s the head?”

Harry smiled on. “Don’t know, is it still attached?”

Draco grinned. “Guess Nash gave you enough potion for the pain?”

Harry just blinked, which was confirmation enough.

“I’ve got something for you,” said Draco hesitantly. “For emotional support.”

It had been a rushed decision and he had been doubting it the _second_ he’d left Grimmauld Place. But now that she was here, he could just as well go through with it.

Very carefully, he put his hand into the front pocket of his hooded sweater and pulled out Emerald.

Harry’s smile widened as Draco placed her on his stomach. Harry hissed at her softly and stroked her head. Then he looked back at Draco suspiciously.

“Does that mean you’re _not_ you going to take me home now?”

There was no talk of sabotaged Bludgers anymore. To say that Draco was relieved would have been an understatement.

Draco snorted. “You earned yourself at _least_ one night at Mungo’s. Don’t make that face, that’s totally on you! You used up a bunch of your magic fighting off the poor Healers. Not exactly a good basis for your healing.”

Harry closed his eyes in denial and swiftly switched the topic. “So, are you gonna stay or what?”

“You know visiting hours end at ten,” said Draco pointedly.

“But you _work_ here,” Harry objected without opening his eyes. “You’re a Healer _._ ”

“Not _yours_ , though. Which is _why_ I brought _this_.”

Green eyes watched carefully as Draco pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. The dopey smile was back.

“Knew you cared,” Harry muttered. “Not about _rules_ , though. Who would’ve thought?”

“Must be your bad influence.” Draco grinned. “You’re the one who set the standard for bringing deadly animals where they don’t belong and sneaking into places you shouldn’t be.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” muttered Harry.

Then he drifted off to sleep and Draco gathered Emerald back into his front pocket, making himself comfortable under his Cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly recommend you watch the music video for [This is Gospel](https://youtu.be/tGE381tbQa8) by Panic! at the Disco. It was a huge inspiration for this chapter and also [chapter 67](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129308/chapters/57980116) and I love it!  
> 


	83. This Is a Call to Arms [Friday, October 13th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for commenting to these magnificent creatures: Justforthedead, AcadianProud, glibstripes, M.a., Fan, Anonymous, EmmaGraceWinchester, ThatBoringOne, ulysses_the_bird, hush_over_the_night, pieragrine, big3, WildvanillaRose, Rionaa, Speedy_Typhoon, Mystical.Moose, Slytherinz_Ghost, Alisha, filidoune, SHkatty, MysticKitten42, k and Anilanna_prongsie! 🤗
> 
> Alright people, let’s see what else we can throw their way. 😊
> 
> Title: Thirty Seconds to Mars – Vox Populi

It was pitch-black when Draco awoke again. The sand in Harry’s heart and oxygen vials was rising and falling in a steady, comforting rhythm.

Draco drew the Cloak closer around himself and shifted in the chair until he found a more comfortable position. His consciousness was already slipping away from him again.

“Make it quick,” a familiar voice whispered from far away. “I’ll get into so much trouble if anybody sees you.”

“Thank you, Courtney,” said a much more familiar voice that Draco couldn’t immediately place. “I just need to see him for a second.”

The door snapped shut and robes rustled as the person stepped nearer.

“ _Colloportus._ ”

Draco was slowly drifting away. There was no need to worry – he knew that voice.

“ _Rennervate,_ ” the voice whispered.

Draco frowned in his state between half-awake and half-asleep. They really should let Harry rest. A low moan came from his bed.

“Drink this,” said the voice. It was silent for a second, then –

“Draco?” Harry whispered. “What happened?”

Draco’s eyes flew open. Standing in front of Harry’s bed was – Draco, dressed in his navy-blue scrubs, an empty vial in one hand and a wand in the other.

Draco made to grab his own, which was stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie together with Emerald, who had curled around it in her sleep. The Invisibility Cloak swished slightly. Draco stilled immediately, but the other Draco’s eyes were already directed at his chair.

“Is somebody else in here?” he asked warily.

Harry shook his head and then pressed a hand to his left temple. “It’s only you and me.”

The second Draco relaxed visibly. The real one watched him closely, not daring to rummage around for his wand.

What did he want? Was he here to hurt Harry? Where did he get his scrubs and (more importantly) something of Draco’s for the Polyjuice Potion?

“Do you remember why you are here?”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. We already talked about that.”

Draco really wanted to attack right then and there, but the impostor had placed his hand on the foot of the bed, wand pointed at Harry almost incidentally.

The false Draco smiled sweetly, making Draco feel rather queasy. Was this really how Harry saw him? Didn’t he notice anything odd?

“Please, tell me again.”

“We had training.” Harry’s voice was oddly calm, almost impassive, as if this didn’t interest him anymore. “A Bludger hit my head. I think there was something wrong with it. It was behaving very oddly. Like the one in our second year.”

“What was wrong with the Bludger in second year?”

Harry frowned and struggled to sit more upright, managing to prop himself up only an inch or so. “ _You_ were there too.”

“Tell me,” Draco’s double urged him, casting a glance over his shoulder.

Draco thought that Harry would refuse in defiance. His eyes seemed to glaze over instead, and when he spoke, his voice was monotone again. “Dobby tampered with it, so it would only follow me.”

“Who do you think did it this time?”

“Somebody on the team,” Harry mumbled, slipping back onto his back slowly. “Nobody else could have … McCarthy … And there were other incidents … I don’t think all of them were really accidents ….”

“Honey, who did you tell about this?”

Draco had the sudden suspicion that this person knew exactly what had happened because they were responsible.

“ _Who are you?_ ” Harry hissed, immediately on high alert.

The second Draco raised his wand to point at Harry’s heart.

Draco was torn between the urge to protect Harry and the need to find out more. Maybe they would give something away that would expose them? If Harry’s speculations were really true, that would be the only way to keep him safe permanently.

“Answer.”

“Only Draco,” Harry said honestly, and Draco suddenly knew what had been in the vial the impostor had given him. Once Harry had answered the question, his face set in anger again, and his voice became a hiss. “You’d better not touch him, or I’ll break every bone in your body!”

Draco’s doppelganger chuckled slightly, clearly unimpressed. “Why do you suspect … McCarthy?”

“She’s been selling me out. She’s spying on me, she wants me off the team,” said Harry through clenched teeth.

“Does he know about that as well? Draco Malfoy?”

Harry was trembling, but he nodded all the same.

The impostor raised his wand, his eyes narrowed at Harry. “Do you have any evidence? Anything that would support your claims?”

“Draco got McAllister to investigate the spying. I keep the articles in my study. And I gave Draco my memory yesterday. I think he’s got it at home. And there’s probably something in my Pensieve, I just didn’t know what I was looking for until now.”

“McAllister? The Quidditch correspondent?”

Harry’s lips were pressed together tightly. His forehead was glistening, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding his tongue, but it was no use.

 _“_ Yes, _”_ whispered Harry. Then, _“I’ll kill you, I swear!_ ”

But Harry’s arms were shaking like mad now, unable to support his weight much longer. The false Draco did not seem very threatened by him.

“The only thing you’ll do is sleep,” he drawled as Harry fell back against his pillow. “Where do you keep your Pensieve?”

“Attic,” Harry whispered. “ _I’ll find you … I –_ ”

But there was nothing else, because sleep had finally overtaken him.

“You won’t even remember me,” said the second Draco, pointing his wand at Harry’s head.

And Draco did something so stupidly Gryffindor that he never would have expected it of himself.

He disregarded his wand, inaccessible as it was, and charged the impostor rashly, throwing off the Cloak in the process so he wouldn’t get tangled up in it. The impact knocked the breath out of both of them, and they crashed to the floor.

Draco could hear the wand clatter away as he scrambled on top, trying to grab both of his opponent’s wrists. He managed to grab his left, but then the right fist connected with Draco’s temple painfully, and he fell forward onto his own free left hand, face to face with his own image.

“Who are you?” he growled, closing his free hand around the other’s throat. He wouldn’t get an answer like that, but Draco wasn’t going to take chances now.

The person bucked under him, trying to free their captured wrist, and clawing at Draco’s with their free hand. Then he slammed his hand against Draco’s ear and Draco was thrown off suddenly, completely out of balance. His back hit the floor and then he was the one being strangled, his look-alike heavy on top of him.

Before Draco could even get his head around what was happening, the second Draco threw himself off again with a scream.

Both of them staggered to their feet – Draco grabbing Emerald from where she had dropped to the floor, his doppelganger gathering up his wand and pressing a shaking hand to his side.

They stared at each other for a second, breathing heavily. Draco’s opponent raised his wand to point at Emerald, who was winding herself around Draco’s left arm. His own wand felt heavy in his pocket.

Something heavy hit the door from outside and they both jumped.

“It’s locked!” Nash shouted. “Get security!”

The impostor’s eyes widened in horror and Draco knew what would happen next. He plunged his right hand into his pocket and grabbed his wand. The shield flared up around him not a second too late, deflecting the blue blast aimed at him.

The next curse was aimed at the door, blowing it open, and then the impostor was gone. Draco set off after him, passing Nash, who had been thrown against the opposite wall.

He could just see the doppelganger fly around the corner, heading for what Draco knew was a supply closet with no other exit.

“You’re trapped!” Draco yelled, firing a curse that missed by several feet. “Surrender!”

The subsequent curse narrowly missed Draco, blasting him off his feet. Then the impostor pulled aside the tapestry of Everleigh the Experimental and sprinted down a narrow spiral staircase that Draco hadn’t even known was hidden behind it.

Draco gritted his teeth and got back to his feet, ignoring the dull pain at the back of his head, where he had struck the wall. He couldn’t let the bastard get away!

But when Draco stepped out onto the backstreet a minute later, his doppelganger was long gone. Only a faint trail of blood indicated the spot from which he had Disapparated and Draco screamed in frustration.

What now?

His first instinct was to look after Harry, but his room would be teeming with Aurors by now. Nash had probably already told them that she had let Draco in, and he couldn’t risk getting arrested while their attacker was still on the loose.

The doppelganger had been interested in Harry’s memories. But they were safe at Grimmauld Place and only the two of them could get inside. He highly doubted that Polyjuice Potion would be enough to trick Harry’s defences.

That only left McAllister and the memory Harry had given him earlier. If only he had viewed the memory already! But that hadn’t been a priority today; Draco had been much more concerned about Harry.

Also, fact was that Draco had thought Harry had been suffering from more than just a mild concussion. He hadn’t exactly taken his suspicions seriously. But who in their right mind _would_ have? Harry was _always_ crying werewolf!

But there was no time for that now. McAllister was most important, so Draco concentrated hard on the memory of that day in August when he had first managed to produce his Patronus, the way Harry had looked when he had recognised the falcon.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” he whispered, and the falcon came, ready to receive his message. “Ron. Somebody attacked us at Mungo’s. They are Polyjuiced to look like me and I think they’re going after Pembroke McAllister next.”

There were more things Draco wanted to say, but he couldn’t get them in order right now, and the more time he wasted, the later his message would reach Ron. So Draco released his Patronus and watched it fly away.

What next? McAllister was taken care of, so it was the memory next. Harry had told that pretender that it was at Draco’s, so Draco would have to get it before anybody else could get to it.

There was nothing else for it – Draco Apparated home.

The house was silent when he reappeared in the hallway and Draco grabbed his wand a little tighter.

 _‘Homenum Revelio,’_ he thought, not daring to make a sound.

Nothing happened.

Draco set off at once, heading straight for the kitchen. He opened his clutter-drawer and searched through it in a haste.

The vial wasn’t there.

Draco yanked open drawer after drawer, getting more and more desperate. He was sure that this was where he had left it!

Had he really been _that_ distracted? Could Aurelius have taken it out?

He raised his wand. “ _Accio Memory!_ ”

Something exploded to Draco’s left, and he was seized by the scolding pressure wave, hit the wall with massive force and finally landed behind the sofa, which had been knocked over as well.

It was like somebody had cast an overpowered _Muffliato_ – the whole world was suddenly quiet, save for a high-pitched whistling noise. Draco was aching all over, completely disoriented and so very exhausted. He wanted nothing more than keep his eyes shut and pretend he wasn’t here, that it hadn’t happened.

What _had_ just happened?

Something odd washed over him, like another, much fainter pressure wave, and Draco opened his eyes.

The bathtub had crashed through a hole in the ceiling and water was pouring onto the rubble, extinguishing some of the flames that were licking at his stripy wallpaper.

Had the gas stove exploded? Harry had promised the chances of that happening were non-existing!

Merlin, his house was on fire! Actually burning!

Where was Aurelius?

Draco gritted his teeth and got to his feet with massive effort.

“ _Lee!_ ” Draco shouted, unable to hear his own voice. “ _Aurelius!_ ”

Something moved to his right, and Draco lunged for it.

It wasn’t Aurelius but Emerald, who must have released his arm when the explosion had happened. Draco grabbed her and stuffed her in the hood of his sweater. A sharp pain flashed through his side as he raised his arm, probably a souvenir from his collision with the ground.

Draco stumbled over a side table and crashed into the wall.

His head felt like it might explode too.

He closed his eyes for a second, catching his breath. He had to focus, damn it! He had to find Aurelius.

Something grabbed him, both arms in a vice at once, and Draco’s eyes flew open.

It was Harry, and he was shouting something at Draco, shaking him urgently. Draco shook his head, completely unsettled now.

Why wasn’t Harry at the hospital?

“Lee!” Draco shouted, unable to form any more words.

Harry flinched and then called something back that Draco couldn’t hear. The ringing in his ears was getting louder and it _hurt_.

The hands around Draco’s arms tightened even more and then the air around them did too – Harry was Disapparating with him.

Draco’s knees were the first part of his body to touch the ground. His upper body and face followed.

He had a split second to stare at the stairs that led to the upper floor of number twenty-two, and then rough hands flipped him over. Harry was leaning over him, talking at him.

“Can’t hear,” Draco mumbled, sitting up slowly.

He took out his wand and pointed it at his ears. It was the hardest healing Draco ever had to do – he could barely keep his wand steady, and he felt the strength leave his body as his eardrums mended at an alarmingly slow rate.

Harry put an arm around his middle and half dragged, half carried him into the kitchen. He braced himself against the kitchen island and hoisted Draco up on a bar stool, taking a step away as soon as Draco was sitting.

A bloody handprint remained on the surface.

Draco seized Harry’s hand immediately and Harry flinched massively at the sudden movement. For a second, Draco thought he would snatch his hand away.

“What did you do?” he almost yelled, heading for a state of panic now.

He turned Harry’s hand palm-up, but could find no injury, only the old scar at his wrist.

Draco’s eyes snapped to Harry’s body, searching for the source of the blood. He wasn’t wearing the hospital gown anymore but his tight-fitting sports gear. How was Draco supposed to spot the blood on his black clothes?

“I don’t think that’s my blood,” Harry said slowly, his eyes fixed on Draco’s left side.

He followed Harry’s line of sight.

Draco’s once light blue sweater was drenched in blood and a large metal part was sticking out of it. Draco’s hand found its way to his own side in a trance and came away wet.

“Oh,” he said, staring at the bright red blood.

He felt weak all of a sudden, as if his body had only just realised the injury itself. Like recognising it was what made it real. He let his wand fall into his right hand, fingers flexing around it.

“What are you doing?” asked Harry suspiciously, his eyes never letting Draco’s wand out of sight.

“I need to heal it,” Draco mumbled. “Only I can’t remember the spell.”

“Give me your wand,” said Harry determinedly. He held out his hand. “I’ll heal it.”

“Where’s yours?” Draco asked perplexedly.

“It wasn’t there when I woke up at the hospital,” Harry said shortly, opening and closing his outstretched, bloody hand in a silent demand. “Come on, Draco. Let me help you. You can’t do it yourself.”

Draco held out his wand for Harry to take.

Emerald moved inside Draco’s hood, but that wasn’t a problem, she would never bite Harry …

The tiny white fang scars on Harry’s wrist stood out against his tan skin as he reached for Draco’s wand.

“Stupefy!”

The spell took massive effort and knocked both of them to the floor.

Draco scrambled to get up. The person pretending to be Harry was already on their knees, whipping out a wand that was definitely not made of holly.

Draco wished he hadn’t spent most of his magic on healing his hearing, but it was no use now. If he couldn’t take the impostor out, he would have to make a run for it.

Draco stumbled into the hallway, a jet of red light narrowly missing him and striking the wall to his left. He cast a feeble shield charm that shattered as soon as the second blast hit it. The jinx bounced off and struck the staircase.

It was like startling a flock of birds – the Snitches were no longer attached to the wall but took flight all at once, all sixty-three of them. One of them exploded directly beside Draco and he could hear the impostor curse loudly.

If only Draco could make it to the Floo, then he could escape to St. Mungo’s, check on Harry. He never should have left him.

The next spell struck Draco directly in the back.

He crashed to the floor, dropping his wand in the process, and then the impostor was on him before he could even think about locating it again.

Ropes shot from his wand, binding Draco tightly. His whole body burned as the metal part was pushed further into his body, and for a second, his vision was overcome with black.

The impostor was standing over him now, weighing Draco’s wand in his hands. Draco had not seen that look in Harry’s eyes for a very long time – not since when he had hated Draco with all his might, when Draco had hated him right back.

“Where’s Harry?” Draco growled, struggling against his bindings until he could feel the metal slide even further inside his body in one agonizing stroke.

“Like I’d tell you,” the doppelganger said coldly.

He crouched down beside Draco, regarding him with a sour look on his face.

“So, _Healer Malfoy_ ,” he snarled. “I heard you are not supposed to remove the object if somebody gets impaled. That true?”

And he grabbed the metal and wrenched it out in a sharp twisting motion that seemed to tear Draco wide open. Draco would have screamed if he had had any strength left.

He could barely make the man out anymore, his vision mostly black. His arm was slick with the blood that was pouring from the wound.

He felt the impostor stand up. Then there were footsteps on the stairs. He seemed to be done with Draco, perfectly content to leave him right here.

Draco told himself that maybe the impostor hadn’t been back at Mungo’s after Draco had chased him off. Just because he was looking like Harry didn’t mean he had gotten to him a second time.

The part of Harry that he had used for the Polyjuice Potion had obviously been older, taken before Draco had gotten rid of Nagini’s scar. And the one on the back of his hand, that had been there as well, now that Draco thought about it.

Also, he didn’t have Harry’s wand. That was what a silver lining looked like, right?

If only Draco weren’t bleeding out in Harry’s hallway. That was bound to ruin his safe haven for him. It certainly was ruining Draco’s day.

Fuck, this was where the real Harry had once attacked him, all the way back at the beginning of their relationship. He had bound him up then as well.

It had taken them two hours to find and capture all the Snitches back then. Draco wondered how long it would take Harry without him.

Then he remembered they had also once fucked in this very spot that Draco would die in. Halloween. Three jumps from Godric’s Hollow.

Merlin, why hadn’t he figured it out right away? Harry never Apparated home directly.

He needed to close his eyes for a moment … He wasn’t supposed to, he knew. Not for long. Only for a second … He was gone before he knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo … see ya tomorrow! 😊


	84. Swan Song [Saturday, October 14th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who smashed their keyboard for me: Justforthedead, pieragrine, pharmacoholic, SimplySomeone, lumint, linellin, M.a., i dont believe in humans, EmmaGraceWinchester, ulysses_the_bird, ThatBoringOne, MPB, IzzyShep, Anilanna_prongsie, PiratsGold, WildvanillaRose, serilla, Thanotane, adventurous_potato, Anonymous, windowcracks, Speedy_Typhoon, onederfulwall, Shmegz, filidoune, Fan, Alisha, Rionaa, kylorrren, k, gimger_bred, Julessong, SHkatty, anony, big3, yolle and Eddie! 😘
> 
> Nice to see you again! Hope you slept as well as I did and have your emotional support animals at the ready😊
> 
> If you were frustrated with Draco in the last chapter: The poor boy was just doppelganger-ed, attacked and his house exploded, I think we could cut him some slack, maaaybe? 🤔

“Wake up! Come on, I need you.”

_Harry?_

Why was he sounding so desperate?

Draco forced his eyes open and a relieved laugh escaped Harry. Immediately he lifted Draco to his feet with his wand, causing Draco to groan in pain and press a hand to his side.

The ropes were gone! The wound still ached fiercely, but Draco felt a bit more alert, and there were bandages wrapped around his torso in a haphazard manner.

“We … have to … go,” Draco pressed out through gritted teeth, leaning against the wall for support.

Something squirmed and hissed at his neck, barely audible, but Draco had trouble concentrating on that right now.

“Oh, no.” Harry laughed coldly, and pointed his wand at Draco’s heart. “You won’t leave this house alive. You will assist me. Upstairs, _now._ ”

Draco stared at him. The ground, so solid just a second ago, was swaying underneath his feet again.

Harry hadn’t come to save him.

How much time had passed since they had arrived at the house? How long had Draco been out of it?

There was a considerable amount of blood on the floor – the impostor must have revived him with a spell or Draco wouldn’t even have been standing.

What did he need Draco for?

“ _Now!_ ”

The hand that Draco was pressing against his wound was ice cold and burning where it came into contact with his hot blood. His other hand, braced against the wall, felt like it was stuck to the wallpaper.

“Or what?” Draco said silently.

Green eyes narrowed at him in hatred and a sharp pain travelled through Draco’s body like high voltage. He was on his knees before he knew it, drawing a shuddering, shallow breath when the pain finally stopped.

“Lightning,” the bastard said with a diabolical grin, wiggling his wand. “Fitting, isn’t it? Get up.”

When the spell lifted Draco to his feet this time, he barely managed to stay upright and his knees were quivering dangerously.

The journey upstairs was torture.

Draco had to force his feet up every single step, and the only thing holding him upright was the wall, which he painted with his blood in the process.

Black was creeping into his vision from the edges now, and his eyes slid in and out of focus, which was not helped at all by the countless Snitches darting in every possible direction.

He wished _his_ Harry were here, if only to catch them, so Draco could focus.

But that was absurd, wasn’t it?

“He’ll come … for me,” Draco bluffed, forming the words with massive effort and slurring half the syllables. “I’m dead …? He’ll … kill you.”

His head was swimming, incredibly heavy, tipping him forward, pulling him down, and all Draco did was to try and avoid falling with every step.

“Don’t worry about me, _Death Eater_. He took enough sleeping potion to be out of it for another five hours. I’ll be long gone by then.”

Five hours … Draco knew he could calculate how much time had passed since Mungo’s using this information, but at the same time, he _couldn’t_.

Standard dosage …? How much was it? Draco knew this in his sleep, but he didn’t _now_. Sleep, sleep sounded good, maybe then –

Draco’s feet caught on the last step, and then he was on his hands and knees, and when those gave out, he somehow managed to avoid falling on his face, landing on his uninjured side instead.

The pretender pushed him over roughly, saying something that Draco couldn’t hear.

When his vision finally cleared somewhat an eternity later, he was lying on the landing, looking up at that bastard. The snakes overhead glistened in the moonlight and something squirmed at Draco’s neck.

“Open the attic,” the impostor growled.

“Can’t,” Draco panted.

He was on one knee beside Draco immediately, pressing the hot tip of his wand against Draco’s chest.

“You will if you don’t want to die right now!”

The wand was hot, so hot, and everything else felt so cold.

“Can’t … Only Harry ...”

Draco didn’t want to look at Harry’s face now, but at the same time, he _did_.

He wanted Harry to be the last person he saw, but not when he looked at him like this.

Something trickled down the sides of Draco’s face, dropping onto his shoulders, and it was hot as well.

“Death Eater tears won’t sway me.”

Hot fingers at his face, turning it to the side roughly.

Harry’s hands weren’t supposed to feel this way.

There was a warm light in front of him, but it was flickering madly, distractingly, impossible to focus. Draco closed his eyes.

“ _Rennervate_ ,” hissed the man. Then, demanding, “The attic!”

The wand pressed down on him harder and Draco’s chest was hot, hot, hot, burning. Some of the fuzziness was gone and Draco opened his eyes, narrowed them at the light in front of him, until he saw that it was fire.

The sitting room – The fireplace! – How?!

“What’s in there?” the impostor hissed. Since when was Draco so obvious?

“Nothing,” Draco mumbled unconvincingly.

“Do you access the attic through there?”

Draco shook his head limply, which was a bad idea. The world was threatening to turn right over, upside down.

A rough hand grabbed his arm, lifted him up, shoved him inside the room.

Draco barely managed to grab a sofa’s backrest and keep himself upright. Harry wouldn’t have a single piece of furniture that wasn’t covered in Draco’s blood if it kept going on like that.

“What now?” the impostor demanded, wand pointed at Draco.

Draco scanned the room.

A sofa and coffee table stood between him and the fireplace. He wouldn’t be able to make it over there, definitely not unarmed and heavily injured.

He needed a distraction, and fast.

His eyes lingered on the dark wooden chest standing next to the fireplace.

No, that was too dangerous.

Another shock hit Draco in the back, forcing him to his knees, and Draco had to blink repeatedly to stay conscious.

“What’s in the chest?”

Draco shook his head. His mouth seemed unable to form words and moving his tongue was getting harder and harder.

The impostor was becoming more irritated by the second. He shocked Draco again and Draco groaned in pain, staring at his bloody handprints on the expensive parquet flooring.

“Only Harry can open it,” Draco whispered.

The bastard laughed coldly. “Alright. You want me to go and get him? Force him to open it for me?”

Draco staggered to his feet, fuelled by extreme hatred, and hissed, “Don’t you _dare_ touch him!”

A scoff, wand pointed at Draco’s face. “Or what? You’ll bleed on me?”

Something dripped onto the floor and Draco looked down, saw that his bandages were completely soaked by now.

“Or I’ll haunt you till the day you die.”

The fake gestured toward the chest and the tip of his wand crackled slightly. “Open it, and Potter doesn’t have to get hurt. Promise.”

Draco squared his shoulder, which, in hindsight, wasn’t that good an idea, as the stabbing pain in his side intensified massively. He wouldn’t have thought it possible.

He approached the chest slowly, not at all keen to face his worst fear. He had a pretty good idea what it would be.

Draco was unarmed and he would have to act fast. He wasn’t sure he could do this – he just wanted to give up already, be done with it.

But what if this son of a witch decided to ambush Harry in Draco’s stead? What if he managed to get rid of all the evidence, vanish into obscurity again? Draco couldn’t leave Harry while this bastard was still on the loose.

He finally understood what Harry had meant. About not going _on_ because of unfinished business. Draco wasn’t finished yet.

He couldn’t lean down without moving the injury, so Draco braced himself against the top of the chest and got down to his knees. His hands were sticky, cold and numb, and it was more chance than skill when he finally managed to undo the lock.

The lid was heavy, barely moving under his hands, and he’d have to open it all the way at once. He couldn’t risk the impostor seeing what was inside only for it to slam shut again. He couldn’t fumble this now.

Harry depended on him.

Draco gathered all his strength and opened the chest with a _BANG_!

And from its depths rose the Dark Lord.

“Harry Potter. At last,” _He_ drawled. “You will not escape me this time.”

“ _NO!_ ” the impostor yelled, so terrified his voice broke. He backed away and hit the wall with a thud. “I’m not him, _I’m not Potter_ , I’m not!”

“You can’t fool me, Harry,” said the Dark Lord almost fondly. _He_ looked around the room with mild interest. “Draco delivered me directly into your home. You shouldn’t have trusted him. But then again, they always said you were just like your father.”

Cold, red eyes were fixed on Harry, paying no heed to Draco kneeling at his feet, despite the mention. He did not matter to the Dark Lord.

“You will die now, Harry.” The Dark Lord lifted his wand placidly. He was smiling, and it was the most horrible thing Draco had ever seen.

“ _Expulso!_ ” the fake Harry screamed in terror.

The curse passed by Draco’s arm with only an inch to spare and went right through the boggart.

There was a deafening BOOM, the sound of splintering wood, a shriek.

Draco was smashed against a wall for the second time that day. His head collided with something on the wall and shards of glass rained down on him when he hit the floor.

Something bounced off the ground right next to his face, emitting faint sparks, and Draco grabbed the hawthorn wand Harry had taken from him eight years ago and staggered to his feet.

Warmth returned to his right hand. Static travelled up his arm. His head was spinning, everything was smoke and dust, but Draco’s legs were holding him.

The impostor took no notice of him, eyes still fixed on the Dark Lord, and fired curses at Him, which bounced off the walls and ceiling, exploding the fireplace and everything else in their path.

Draco dodged another bright blue jet of light and cast a feeble Protego, stumbling towards the door, one hand braced against the wall.

“ _NO!_ ” Harry’s voice called out in agony just as Draco passed him.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut as he tumbled over the threshold. That wasn’t Harry. It wasn’t real.

Draco’s legs gave way after all and he only just managed to grab the banister.

He couldn’t give up now! He had to make it downstairs at all costs.

Draco could barely see now. His knees were touching the floor, and he was going to fall, if he wanted to or not.

He slid to the floor, turning so that his back was against the banister and he was facing the sitting room again. It seemed to be on fire. That was what it meant, when the light kept flickering like that, right?

Harry was kneeling on the floor, and there were two bodies in front of him. All Draco could see of them was their long hair, one blond and curly, the other red. The Dark Mark was hanging in the air above them.

Something squirmed against his neck and Draco pulled Emerald out of his hood. Her chances were much better without him.

“Hide,” Draco mumbled. “Warn him ... Harry … real one.”

“MALFOY! WHAT DID YOU DO?! _I’LL KILL YOU!_ ”

The was a mighty crash and the scumbag appeared in the door, clearly in a rage. He was gripping his wand tight, white-knuckled, trembling from head to toe.

Even in their worst days, Harry had never looked at him with so much loathing, like he wanted to tear him limb from limb.

Draco raised his wand shakily. Emerald hissed.

Both of their heads jerked up as the sigil above them moved suddenly.

One silvery snake descended blazingly fast, narrowly missing the impostor, who flung himself to the side just as reflexively as Harry would have done.

The second serpent twined around Draco’s torso, yanking him up, and his body flared up in agony.

And that was the last thing he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you thought this chapter would resolve yesterday’s tension … sucks to be you? 😇


	85. Someone Has To Die (Saturday, October 14th 2006)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I want to thank my emotional support humans (presumably): Justforthedead, Fan, Aimee Van Der Merwe, AcadianProud, adventurous_potato, ThatBoringOne, trashseme, SlytherinSeaWitch, EmmaGraceWinchester, yolle, big3, Anonymous, gimger_bred, serilla, heyaheyahh, SHkatty, Thanotane, Rionaa, WildvanillaRose, deviantgumiho, Alisha, Slytherinz_Ghost, Slytherinz_Ghost, kylorrren, allhailthehales, filidoune, k, Eddie, ulysses_the_bird, Pferdeparadies and ender! 😘
> 
> Right, so I merged this chapter with the next one (wasn’t sure you could take that many cliffhangers 😉). This doesn’t mean that there is less content, only that you’ll get to read it faster. Would I do that if I liked to torture you?!? No. No, I absolutely wouldn’t. You’re welcome.
> 
> Title: Air Traffic Commissioner - This is love

Draco was lying on his back and something cold was winding through his hair, flicking his forehead with a cold tongue, slithering back into his hood.

The floor was shaking every so often and he could hear someone swearing down below.

The ceiling was illuminated by a silvery, shimmering light.

He was so damn tired. Draco couldn’t help but close his eyes. He’d just rest for a moment ….

The floor shook again, this time even more violently, and pain flared up through his right side. Right, he was injured. He’d almost forgotten.

Not that it didn’t hurt. It was more that Draco’s whole body ached fiercely while feeling numb at the same time. They had never really managed to convey the feeling during Healer training.

He just wanted to sleep and wait for somebody to rescue him. Harry would rescue him. Harry was always saving someone –

Harry couldn’t come here! It was too dangerous. It could be _anyone_ down there.

Draco didn’t even know what they wanted. Only that they had been interested in Harry’s memories, his accidents, the spying. His theories about Felicity McCarthy.

Draco rolled over onto his stomach and nearly passed out from the effort of it. His body was screaming and he had to wait a few moments until his vision came back.

He would never be able to stand up, so he crawled over to the wall and sat up with his back propped up against it.

Draco felt completely drained and he couldn’t recall a single thing that had ever been as hard as crossing this short distance.

Patronus. He had to get help. Not Harry, Harry couldn’t come here. But Ron, yes, Ron would be good. He was an Auror, there had to be ways for him to get through the wards, right? Maybe Harry could let him in, at least.

Draco concentrated, searching for his memory, but there was only fuzzy blackness inside. His brain felt like it was made of mud, impossible to wade through.

Where was that memory? He knew he had one, the one about saving Harry. Only it was twisted and faded now, and the only thing standing out clearly was the way Harry had looked on that table, pale and cut up, with his heart standing still.

Draco shook his head slightly, but it did nothing but intensify his head ache. He felt like crying. He had mastered the Patronus, and now he couldn’t use it? Harry had done it after his accident!

Draco had half a mind to try anyway, but it would only be a waste of magic. And he desperately needed that right now. It was the only thing keeping him alive.

But still he couldn’t rest now. He had to help Harry.

He needed the Pensieve.

He could barely raise his wand and when he said, _“Locomotor”,_ it came out as a croaked whisper.

The Pensieve was solid stone and very heavy. It barely rose an inch above the little pillar it sat upon. Draco had to use every last bit of his concentration to keep it afloat, and when it came over to him – very, very slowly – it was quivering dangerously.

A sudden blast shook the whole house and Draco’s focus slipped. The Pensieve crashed down and slid across the floor. It came to rest at his knee.

If Draco had been hot and sweaty from the effort of holding the spell, he was ice cold now. A firm hand grabbed his insides as he looked at the stone basin in terror.

A crack ran down the middle of it and one of the runes was split in half. Draco couldn’t remember what it stood for. His brain was clouded and fuzzy.

There was nothing for it but to try. Either it still worked or ... Draco didn’t dare to think about it.

“Quidditch accident,” Draco said silently.

The Pensieve reacted at once. The mist inside began to swirl, picking up speed rapidly, forming a miniature hurricane.

Now and then, there were images flickering inside of it, Quidditch players in robes of all colours, a plethora of Quaffles, Bludgers and bats and also a few Snitches in between.

“Stop,” Draco said, and the commotion died down suddenly.

He’d have to be way more specific. The Pensieve didn’t seem to be picking up on his intentions.

“Harry’s last accident,” Draco said.

The mist seemed to switch back and forth between several memories, too fast to make out anything. Then it settled on one of them, the surface clearing up suddenly.

Draco, who’d been expecting a stadium and players on brooms, didn’t recognise the scene at first.

This wasn’t Quidditch … It was Olivia’s car.

Draco didn’t need to see this, didn’t want to be reminded of the day Harry had almost died. He didn’t want to think about the choices he had made.

He couldn’t bring himself to stop it.

~o~

“So,” Olivia said, apparently breaking the silence.

Harry, who had been fiddling with the golden thread of his necklace and staring out of his window, flinched slightly.

“Don’t get me wrong … I’m happy you have time for me. But don’t you have a match today?”

“Mmh,” Harry said.

“And isn’t that your first in four months?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why are you coming to yoga with me?”

Olivia kept glancing over at him, but Harry just shrugged.

“Told the Coach that I don’t feel up to it.” Harry looked out of the window again, seeming slightly worried.

And then Draco saw what he was looking at.

Odysseus was flying some distance away, his head turned in Harry’s direction, as if telling him to stop already. If you knew what to look for, you could even see the tiny scroll of parchment in his talons.

Seemed like the coach had received his message and had some things to say about it.

Harry turned his head away determinedly.

Olivia sighed heavily. “Harry, I’m worried about you. Your job used to be the most important thing to you. You used to be happy, just getting to play. And now you’re so down all the time.”

“Sorry,” Harry said with a sigh. He glanced at her and noticed that she was looking at him as well. “Watch the road, for heaven’s sake! I’m not that interesting.”

Olivia turned away, but didn’t stop glancing over at him from time to time. They were silent for a moment.

“Is this still about your break-up?” she said, trying for a casual tone, but not quite managing it.

She turned her head just in time to see Harry raise his eyebrows at her.

“I don’t think it’s going to get better any time soon ... Liv, the road!”

Olivia seemed oddly unfazed by Harry’s criticism of her driving style, but she still turned her attention on the road again. Well, at least she looked in that direction.

Draco had a feeling that her mind was somewhere else, like she was preparing to say something important.

“We’ve been meaning to talk to you about it,” she finally said.

Harry shivered slightly and rubbed his arms. Draco’s stomach did a very painful twist as he realised that Harry was wearing the blue t-shirt they had fought over on Neville’s birthday.

“Who’s we?”

She put a hand on his shoulder and he leaned into the touch. “Me, Lauren, the others.”

“Okay?” Harry was still rubbing his arms, but slower now.

“We think you should put the whole Malfoy thing behind you,” she said, sounding more like Lauren than herself.

And Harry thought that _Draco_ lacked tact.

“Malfoy?” Harry repeated, clearly startled.

She withdrew her hand as Harry’s shoulders tensed underneath.

They looked at each other again. Harry was probably trying to figure out what had gotten into her, and she seemed to assess his reaction. Then Harry shot a pointed look at the road and she turned away again.

Harry glanced at the window. Odysseus was still keeping up with them and also still glaring at him.

“You don’t belong together.”

“Excuse me?!” Harry seemed angered. Draco didn’t think he _could_ get angry at Olivia. He hadn’t thought _anybody_ could get angry at her, but here they were. He was starting to feel conflicted about her himself. “All of you were gushing about Draco. You couldn’t wait for us to get together!”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said – looking at him again, like a maniac. “Lauren _said_ you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Believe what?” Harry demanded, turning her head around with his own hand, so she was facing the road again.

“He thinks he’s better than us,” she said matter-of-factly. “It always felt like he was looking down on us.”

Harry laughed, but it didn’t sound very amused. “Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s true. He pretended to like us when you were around, and we believed it too, at first. I guess he couldn’t keep it up forever.”

Draco was injured. He was slowly bleeding out, _that_ was why he thought he heard her say these things. His hearing had been damaged. He had _thought_ he had healed it, but healing yourself was always unreliable. His ears were playing a dirty trick on him.

But all this reasoning didn’t stop Olivia from talking. “After a while, he didn’t even talk to us when you were gone for a moment. Only scoffed at us. Like he didn’t need to pretend anymore now that he’d gotten you.”

“I –,” Harry begun, but Olivia wasn’t done yet.

“I’ve also been meaning to tell you that he seems to have somebody else already.”

“Wha-”

Olivia’s hand was back on Harry’s shoulder, but this time he didn’t welcome it. His fists were clenched, his whole body rigid.

“Lauren’s grandma told us. She saw some guy at his house several times. He definitely stayed the nights.”

“What?” whispered Draco, even though they couldn’t hear him.

Helping Harry over the break-up was one thing, but he couldn’t believe that Olivia – sweet, caring Olivia – would tell such lies about him. He’d always thought that she liked him! She and Lauren had even invited him to dinner at Mrs. Capitelli’s, for fuck’s sake!

Harry seemed shocked as well – he was staring at Olivia, open-mouthed, eyebrows furrowed and a hand buried deep in his hair.

Olivia was practically staring at him, scanning his face almost mechanically.

There was a high-pitched shriek. Harry, who knew what an owl sounded like, whipped around to check on Odysseus.

Olivia turned to look at the road again, but it was already too late – she swerved madly to avoid the dog that stood in the middle of their lane.

Time seemed to slow for a second as Harry yelled something and grabbed his belt with one hand. He tried to reach the wheel with the other, but didn’t make it in time.

They collided with the oncoming car almost head-on in a deafening sound of screams and crashing metal – only Olivia was completely silent. Harry’s shield erupted around him on impact, severing his belt on both sides and causing all the windows to explode outwards.

Harry was hurled onto the street along with the passenger door, not a second before his seat was crushed by the other car. His shield crumbled on first contact with the road, and he skidded over the asphalt for several meters before the memory went black.

~o~

Draco was grabbing his wand so hard it felt close to snapping.

There was nothing he could do to help Harry, which made this pure torture to watch.

Harry could have died thinking all those things Olivia had told him were true.

Olivia had killed two Muggles. Olivia had almost killed _him_.

Draco didn’t feel sorry for her anymore. So what if her life was in ruins now? This was her doing.

Draco waved his hand at the Pensieve to speed up the memory and some of the mist seeped out through a crack and evaporated. “ _Fuck!_ ”

The surface turned silvery again, indicating that there would be nothing more to the memory.

Draco was left to speculate what had happened next – Harry must have regained consciousness sometime after the crash, enough to send his Patronus and call for Olivia. And then the Muggles had taken him away.

Of course Draco knew that Harry had survived this. This had happened almost two months ago. But he still felt sick.

He wished he hadn’t seen it. He had learnt absolutely nothing.

Olivia, not anybody magical, had caused this accident. The only remotely magical involvement had been Odysseus, and he had even tried to warn them!

This memory had been a waste of time.

Draco suddenly realised the floor hadn’t been shaking for quite a while now. Somehow, he doubted that the intruder had given up.

Had he decided to get Harry instead? I was unlikely that he had another Parselmouth at hand. But could he? Harry was at Mungo’s, and the Aurors had to be there by now.

Even if Draco had been strong enough to do it, he wouldn’t have dared tell Emerald to open the attic so he could check.

His only option was to find a better memory, figure out who was behind it all, so he could warn Harry. Preferably before all of the memories evaded the Pensieve.

“Who’s causing Harry’s accidents?” he prompted.

The Pensieve stayed calm. Draco guessed that it could only show the connections Harry had made himself.

He knew that Harry had suspected something in the memory he had given Draco, but that was just as gone as the kitchen drawer he had put that in. Or his whole kitchen, for that matter.

Draco stared blankly at the Pensieve.

He didn’t know what to ask for. He had nowhere to start. He tried to think of something, anything at all that would help him, any clue the intruder might have dropped.

Something was moving just ahead and Draco nearly lost hold of his wand.

He lifted his head with massive effort, feeling like heavy weights were attached to it, and watched in numb horror as the silver, twisted circle of floor that was the entrance stirred and dropped out of sight to form the stairs that would lead up into the attic.

It was Harry, and he was still in his pyjamas from the hospital. Merlin, what was he doing here? Had he come here on his own? Had his doppelganger managed to get to him after all?

Harry scanned the room in a split second, noticing him instantly. They made eye contact and Harry glared at him with a murderous look in his eyes.

The impostor must have told him that Draco was the doppelganger.

“ _Violet_ ,” Draco whispered, not even sure if Harry would be able to hear it. He put a shaking hand over his heart and the tiny golden Snitch grew hot against his chest.

Harry clutched at his own chest, eyes widening in shock. He whipped around, raising his wand, but it was too late.

A red blast shot right at him from downstairs just as his own left his wand. His shield flared up around him, but Harry was still under the weather and the shield wasn’t strong enough.

The first spell shattered it, pushing him back a few feet. The second struck Harry in the chest, knocking him out cold. He collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

Harry’s wand clattered across the floor and ended up right beside Draco’s left hand. He quickly picked it up and slipped it inside his sleeve, even though he didn’t know what for.

Now he had two wands and still next to no magic left.

Draco grabbed his own old wand a little tighter. He felt like easy prey, slumped against the wall like this, but there was no way he could get up.

His side didn’t hurt anymore, which _could_ have been a good thing, if there hadn’t been the light-headedness. He knew he didn’t have that much time left.

There were footsteps on the ladder and then Draco’s doppelganger entered the attic, Draco’s own wand pointed at him. He scrutinised Draco with a smirk, eyes lingering on his side and the blood on the floor. He only regarded Draco’s wand with a fleeting look, as if Draco wasn’t really a threat to him.

“Look who decided to join us,” the doppelganger said, pointing Draco’s own wand at Harry. “So fortunate. Well, for me.”

“ _Don’t_ touch him!” Draco growled. The words were slurred and he drew a rattling breath afterwards that made his doppelganger smile.

“Or _what_? You’re in no position to threaten me.”

“Could still … _kill_ you,” Draco pressed out, raising his wand just a little bit. His hand felt like it was made of lead.

“Oh, but you won’t,” the impostor said. “Because I’d kill _him_ before you even got the chance.”

Harry was lifted off the ground, his head slumping forward so that his hair covered the scar.

Draco’s hand dropped back onto his lap, though his wand was still pointed at the bastard. “What do you want?”

“I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse,” he said with a smile. Where had Draco heard that before? The double pointed to the Pensieve at Draco’s feet. “You’ll destroy the Pensieve.”

“And then you’ll leave?” Draco asked suspiciously. It was worth a try, even if the chances of that happening were practically non-existent.

The other Draco laughed. “Sure. _After_ you’ve killed yourself.”

Draco grabbed his wand tighter. He could taste blood, but he wouldn’t give that bastard the pleasure of spitting it out. “And why the fuck would I do that?”

“In this situation? To save his life.” The double wiggled his wand and Harry was lifted a little higher off the ground.

Draco’s mind was a swamp, and Draco was drowning. There was no way out. He would die here, and the best-case scenario would be if Harry survived. That was fact.

The impostor grinned nastily and continued. “Officially? Because Potter found out _you_ were the one who sold him out to the Prophet the entire time. You tried to Obliviate him in the hospital and when you got caught, you blew up your house and then came here to destroy the evidence of your betrayal. Then you took your own life to avoid Azkaban. _Tragic_.”

“You’ll modify his memory.” Draco gritted his teeth. Some blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, but he doubted he could have lifted his hand to wipe it away.

The false Draco grinned. “Obviously. I don’t know what you _did_ to him to wrap him around your little finger, but I’ve got the feeling he’d want revenge if he knew what happened. _Much_ easier to let him blame you.”

“Why not Obliviate _me_ too? Make me believe I did all those things you’re going to pin on me and let them take me to Azkaban.” Draco briefly debated telling him that he had informed the Aurors about the Polyjuice, but he feared that it could sabotage the investigation after his death.

“Well, the thing is ...” The double sighed deeply. “It’s personal. I just _really_ want you dead. All of your kind, really, but that’s not in my hands.”

“My kind?”

Draco had trouble thinking about what that could mean. He was a Healer, but he doubted that somebody could hate _all_ of them. Maybe he meant homosexuals? But why spare Harry? Just because he wasn’t full on gay? Or did he get to be the exception because he was Harry Potter?

Emerald squirmed inside his hood and Draco finally understood. He didn’t know how he could have forgotten. “You’re Muggle-born?”

“I don’t have to be Muggle-Born to know not to join the _Death Eaters_!” He sounded really angry now, like they’d finally gotten to the bottom of it all. “Not that it’s any of your business!”

“You made it my business when you _attacked_ us,” Draco pressed out. His mind was going as fast as it still could – like somebody trying to force their way through quicksand.

“Don’t try to blame this on me,” hissed the impostor. “This is on you! I’d have been content with how things were after you broke up with Potter. Why couldn’t you just stay the hell away from him? And _why_ did you have to start snooping around? There was no reason to get the Prophet involved.”

This whole time, they’d assumed that the person was someone trying to hurt _Harry_. But now it seemed that had only been the goal _at first_. Priorities had apparently shifted when Draco came into the picture.

Merlin, none of that was any help at all. None of the suspects had been Death Eaters anyway.

The first person that came to mind was Greyson. He had definitely wanted Draco off the team as soon as he had joined them as Healer. Problem was: It seemed that the informant was the same person that had sabotaged the Bludger. And it made absolutely no sense for him to hurt his own team. Besides, Draco didn’t know how he could have known about the secret staircase at Mungo’s.

Maybe Dayal, then. Draco had stolen his job. He would know his way around Mungo’s, and he’d have access to Draco’s scrubs. But he couldn’t have been anywhere near the Falcons’ pitch since Draco had taken over. He couldn’t have sabotaged the Bludger.

Samantha? As Harry’s PR person, she’d be able to get into the Falcons’ stadium whenever she wanted. But why would she? More importantly: What good would sabotaging Harry’s career be?

Then there was Felicity. Her family had stayed impartial in the war, but Draco never would have suspected her to sympathise with Muggles. Maybe this was about image? People rarely admitted to having belonged to Slytherin nowadays. But Cuffe had said that the informant had been _male_. Then again, there obviously was Polyjuice involved. Also, they had seen her at the pitch that day with Teddy. And she clearly wanted Harry’s spot on the team. Besides, she lived near Grimmauld Place … And Harry was determined that it was her. Maybe it was time to trust his instincts?

If Draco wanted to try his luck defeating that bastard, he would have to do it as soon as possible. He was getting weaker by the minute and there wasn’t much magic left in him.

But the longer he waited, the higher were the chances of Harry regaining consciousness. If Draco was right, Harry had only been struck by a Stupefy. Then again, he had apparently bunked off from the hospital, which meant he was only half-healed.

Draco’s eyes had become unfocused, staring at the real Harry, and another blast of lightning hit Draco before he even realised that the impostor had lifted their wand. Draco felt like screaming, but there was no air in his lungs and his whole body was twitching uncontrollably.

“Focus, Malfoy!” hissed the doppelganger. “You can drift off when I tell you to.”

“Fine.” Draco coughed up some blood but managed to hold eye contact. He was going to stall as long as possible and hope that Harry would save him. “Kill him. See if I care.”

The fake Draco hesitated; his (her?) eyes narrowed dangerously. “You think I won’t do it?”

“Yes, I do.” Draco put his left hand on his heart, as if to emphasise his point. “And you do too, right there.”

He tried to concentrate on the necklace under his fingertips, willing it to react. He couldn’t tell if it was working, because there was practically no feeling left in his fingertips.

The impostor scoffed. “I’m going to kill _you_ , aren’t I?”

Draco pretended to feel the wound with his left hand, letting Harry’s wand slide down the sleeve until it was resting against his wrist. It was time to take a risk and throw a wild theory out there. It was all Draco had.

“Still. You wouldn’t kill him. People will hardly care about my death, but his? They’ll hunt you down. And think about Teddy. Harry is the only father-figure he has left.”

The doppelganger tensed up, shoulders squared and knuckles white. Draco could tell she was too stunned to react instantly, but she wouldn’t hesitate for much longer.

“ _Catch!_ ” Draco yelled in a desperate attempt, tossing Harry’s wand in the doppelganger’s direction.

He knew instantly that the throw was going to come several feet short, but that didn’t matter. Seekers were trained to catch anything that flew at them.

The impostor – Felicity? – took an involuntary step towards the projectile, and her concentration broke, ending the spell that was keeping Harry in the air.

Draco aimed his wand at Harry and cast. It felt like his _Rennervate_ would be barely enough to wake a sleeping baby, but it was his only hope. It hit Harry just as his back connected to the floor and the fake Draco caught his wand.

Draco tried to shout out a warning, but all that came out was a rattling noise. It didn’t matter - Harry’s magic exploded on impact.

The whole house shook violently as a wave of raw power crashed over them and the doppelganger was smashed against the ceiling.

Draco’s Snitch pulsated massively, as if the magic inside was struggling to keep up with the magic outside. Draco was fighting desperately to stay conscious. He had to see if Harry was alright.

Then the decision was taken from him when the floor collapsed underneath them.


	86. Can I Get a Witness? [Saturday, November 11th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you guys so much for commenting: Justforthedead, yolle, Anonymous, Fan, Eddie, Wynterfox, deviantgumiho, Alisha, Rionaa, SHkatty, big3, gimger_bred, WildvanillaRose, serilla, IzzyShep, Pferdeparadies, Slytherinz_Ghost, FrappuBean, trashseme, Icedmochalester, Mystical.Moose, hush_over_the_night, ulysses_the_bird, ThatBoringOne, minijaxter, SimplySomeone, Hime_chu, lumint, filidoune, EmmaGraceWinchester, kylorrren, k, Zezily and prongslet612! 😊
> 
> Okay, to be fair (to me): I never said there wouldn’t be another cliffhanger, only that merging two chapters would lessen them 😉It’s not really my fault Draco keeps passing out, the wimp.
> 
> Also, I love how you wonder where they’re going to live now. Pretty sure about the _living_ part, aren’t you? 🙄 Guess we'll see about that in a second.
> 
> Title: Adam Jensen – I Can Hold a Grudge Like Nobody’s Business

There was a noise. Silent. Rising, falling, gone for a few seconds. Draco drifted away before he could make it out.

People were whispering. Why? Secrets, maybe. He wasn’t interested. Just tired.

Draco was floating.

“– Harry!” The voices were getting nearer, clearer. They sounded agitated this time.

“Just saying. Are we sure _he’s_ going to wake up at all?” This one was male and vaguely familiar.

“ _He_ won’t die!”

Who? Draco? But who _had_ died, then? It sounded like …

“You can’t –”

The girl sounded tired when she said, “We _promised_ Harry, before he left.”

Left? What did that mean …? They couldn’t mean … they _couldn’t_ , right?

“ _Look_ at him, ‘Mione.”

Draco could feel their presence. Somebody was leaning over him and Draco’s eyes flew open. He grabbed Ron’s jacket collar with both hands, pulling himself almost upright.

“Where’s – _Where is he?_ ”

“ _Bloody hell!_ ” Ron yelled, jumping back and dragging Draco with him, who was holding on like his life depended on it. Ron grabbed both his wrists but didn’t shake him off. “ _Relax!_ He’s dead.”

Draco fell back into his bed, even though he couldn’t remember letting go of Ron. The sunlight streaming in from the window seemed much too bright all of a sudden.

“ _Ron!_ ” Hermione grabbed Draco’s shoulder with one hand and slapped Ron with the other.

She looked down at Draco with a weak smile and used her most soothing voice. “Harry’s alive. Everything’s alright. It’s Matthew Greyson who’s dead.”

“ _Oh._ ” Ron’s ears were turning red already. “Yeah, sorry. _Harry_ is absolutely fine. Greyson is toast.”

Draco couldn’t even be mad at him – Harry was alright and that was all that mattered. Draco’s incompetence hadn’t killed him. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else registered for a few seconds.

Hermione hesitated and then sat down on the edge of his bed and smoothed down the blanket.

“Harry had to leave half an hour ago. He’ll be so disappointed that you woke up _now_.” She smiled again, and it was a bit stronger than before. “He’s been keeping vigil at your bedside for the last thirteen days.”

“Thirteen – _what_?” Draco pushed away the blanket to have a look at his body.

Everything seemed to be where it should be – all of his limbs were still attached and there was only a very faint scar where he’d been impaled. The simple act of lifting the blanket had drained him, though.

“Where’s my wand?”

“Harry has it.” Hermione leaned over to rearrange the blanket neatly. “Is there something we can do?”

“ _I ... what ... who –?_ ” There were so many thoughts crashing through his head, none of them making any particular sense. He didn’t know what to ask first. He kept feeling his side to make sure it wasn’t still a gaping wound.

“Greyson got you good,” supplied Ron helpfully.

And wasn’t that just hilarious? Draco had gotten it wrong after all. Merlin, he could have ended up killing all of them!

“You’re going to be alright,” Hermione said in some kind of uplifting voice. “You’ll probably keep the scar, if you don’t want to get it removed, but the Healers say you didn’t suffer any lasting damages apart from that. They’ll probably want to keep you here for a while, though.”

“ _Harry?_ ” The word came out in a whisper.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a short look.

“I’ll find you a Healer!” Ron turned on the spot and made a hasty exit.

Hermione took a few seconds to look after him and then said, “Harry’s alright too. He woke up two weeks ago, two weeks after the incident. Still a little … _unsteady_ on his feet. Don’t worry.”

“Why does that sound like a lie?” Draco tried to push himself into a sitting position and failed miserably, finally sinking back into his pillows in defeat.

“It’s not.” Hermione was biting her lower lip and looking out of the window. “He’s alive and happy, I promise. Well, apart from being worried sick about you.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s ... um ...” She got up from his bedside and went to open a window. She didn’t turn back to face him. “He’s meeting with your parents downstairs.”

“My – _why?_ ”

“They’ve been trying to see you for a month. You appointed Harry as your healthcare agent, so he gets to decide. They don’t really take _‘No’_ for an answer.”

Draco stared at the ceiling. He felt overwhelmed and weak in his hospital bed, like a child. Reluctant as he was to admit it to himself, he missed his mother. It had been so long since he had talked to her and that conversation hadn’t been a pleasant one.

Maybe they were finally ready to forgive him?

Or maybe they just wanted to convince him to come back. He could imagine how the situation must seem to them.

Their son went _gay_ and immediately all sorts of horrible things happened to him: He lived among Muggles. He was really _working_. He was involved in a huge scandal that cost him his promotion and made him public enemy number one. He broke several laws for his gay partner and almost went to Azkaban over it. His house got blown up and he was nearly murdered at Harry’s home.

“I don’t think I want to see them.”

“Alright.” Hermione didn’t say anything else, though Draco suspected she might have had plenty to say about his parents. Draco couldn’t blame her.

Ron came back then, all of six Healers and three mediwitches in tow.

“What the – I’m not _dying_!”

All of his colleagues were grinning broadly, and then Nash came forward and hugged him quite unexpectedly.

Draco patted her back awkwardly, trying not to meet anybody’s eyes over her shoulder. “Okay, I think that’s quite enough ...”

She let go of him. Draco suspected that she only did it so he could see her rolling her eyes at him, but the effect was somewhat diminished by her broad smile. “Fine, you grouch. Let’s have a look at you, then.”

They surrounded his bed and started casting various spells at him while Ron joined Hermione at the window. Draco didn’t really know where to look, so he just decided on a spot on the ceiling and kept his eyes fixed to it. Maybe they should think about painting the ceiling a more exciting colour.

The door was pushed open again just a minute later and then he heard Harry mutter _“Bloody Malfoys”_ under his breath. Before Draco could comment on that, there was an aborted noise and then Harry’s panicked voice rising above all the other noise. “ _What happened?!_ ”

Nash, who was standing at Draco’s head, stepped aside and then Draco saw him – Harry fucking Potter, still alive after all _that_.

There was a silence during which they just stared at each other while the Healers worked on quietly.

Then Draco said, “Would you _look_ at us, living and breathing – the whole shebang,” and Harry nearly tripped in his hurry to reach him.

He pressed a hard kiss to Draco’s forehead and then dragged him into his arms, much to the Healers’ protest, which he ignored. Draco slung his arms around Harry, even though it took massive effort, and squeezed him as strongly as he could, which wasn’t that strong at all.

He sank back into his pillows when Harry finally let go to sit on the edge of his bed.

“ _The whole shebang?_ ” Harry smirked. “Where’d you get that from?”

“Did I ever tell you about the melting pot?”

“– of insults, yeah. I didn’t know it extended that far.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands to tell you all about it.”

“Deal,” Harry said, beaming. Then he punched his arm without so much as a warning. “How _dare_ you wake up without me?”

“Look who’s talking,” Draco shot back, rubbing his arm weakly. “You beat me to the punch by _two whole weeks_ , they tell me.”

“Irrelevant. You didn’t miss any of the fun, promise.”

The aura field around Draco fell as Nash lowered her wand. “Alright, Draco. You’ve healed quite nicely. I estimate you’ll be back at full strength in about two weeks. We’ll keep you here until then.”

“Perfect!” Harry was grinning at the group of Healers broadly.

One of the younger mediwitches flushed heavily and shuffled so she was half-hidden behind Nash. Another Healer kept twirling her wand nervously.

Draco had to wonder if the sheer number of his colleagues present was due to their concern for him or their need to prove themselves in front of Harry. It didn’t really matter. He did have more than enough people who cared about him.

“ _Draco?_ ” Draco said sceptically, picking up on the important thing. They’d never really called each other anything other than their last names.

“You practically died on me three times that night,” Nash said with a deep frown. “I’ve _earned_ the right to call you Draco, alright?”

“Fair enough,” Draco said earnestly. “Now if all of you would kindly piss off.”

Some of them seemed especially reluctant to leave and they kept glancing back in Harry’s direction.

Draco waited until the door was closed before he crossed his arms and glared at Harry. “You’ve taken over my Healers. Since when are you that nice to them?”

Harry waived it off with a grin. “I’ve always been nice to them.”

Hermione pushed off the windowsill. “They tried to send him away a week after he woke up, so he had to convince them to let him stay the nights.”

“Really?” Draco grinned. “Why didn’t you just use your Cloak?”

Harry grimaced. “Can’t. They’ve increased security. There’s no use trying Polyjuice, glamours, Disillusionment charms, Invisibility Cloaks or simple transfiguration. Even Animagi are forced to detransform when they cross the threshold.”

Draco took a moment to process that. All of it seemed like a massive effort, though it made a lot of sense, of course. “I’m guessing that’s about Greyson?”

Harry exchanged a look with his friends. All of three of them seemed surprised.

“You figured out that Greyson was an Animagus?” Hermione asked carefully.

“No, I – the Polyjuice – _what?_ ”

“Odysseus,” Harry spat out. “Odysseus wasn’t his owl; it was _him_. That’s how he spied on me. He just came into my house and eavesdropped.”

Draco was speechless. He’d neither trusted Greyson nor his owl, but he never would’ve suspected _that_. Thoughts kept crashing through his head and he couldn’t focus on any one of them clearly.

He felt _violated_. This was worse than being nearly murdered – the bastard had inserted himself in their private lives, into the moments that were meant to be between the two of them. Who knew what he had witnessed?

“Why?” was all that he could muster.

“Where to start,” Harry said grimly. “Mainly because he was broke, I guess. We can’t know everything for sure, because he’s fucking dead, _thankfully_ , but the Aurors did find out some things and concluded some others.”

Hermione took out her wand and drew two chairs for herself and Ron. They landed on the side of Harry, so Draco wouldn’t have to look between them.

Then she took over from Harry. “The way they see it, Greyson invested a huge portion of his savings in the Falcons about ten years ago. They were doing fine that year but then took a nosedive and were bottom of the League for three years straight.”

Draco nodded slowly. “We kind of already knew that part … at least about the Falcons’ financial problems.”

“Then, during the war, Greyson went into hiding with his family. He’s a Half-Blood, but his wife’s a Muggle – it wasn’t safe. That’s also when he became an Animagus, to try and protect his family.”

“Guess that’s why he hated me,” Draco mumbled.

“Pretty much,” Ron said.

Hermione gave him a look and continued. “So, the Falcons weren’t doing that well, he had lost a huge part of his savings because of it and the rest went out the window during the war. And then he managed to snatch Harry for the team and all of a sudden, tickets, merch – all the sales were way up.”

Draco looked at Harry, who rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“But it wasn’t enough. Greyson only managed to break even after everything.”

“This is where Cuffe comes in,” Ron said, now in Auror mode. “He admitted that he approached Greyson a few years ago and offered him gold for inside information on Harry. Apparently, that’s not unusual when it comes to Quidditch players. Only thing was: he offered _way_ more for Harry.”

“Cuffe _knew_?” Draco’s heart sank. If that was true, he could’ve been able to stop Greyson much earlier. “I was _so_ sure that Cuffe didn’t know who it was.”

“Oh, Greyson declined the offer,” Harry said calmly. “And only half a year later did the mysterious informant come forward.”

“Coincidentally, Greyson’s wife told the Aurors that their financial situation got easier around that time, even though the team hadn’t improved much,” Hermione said.

“It was mostly harmless stuff at first. Inconspicuous details, nothing major,” Harry continued. His facial expression turned dark all of a sudden. “And _then_ he found out about Grace. He made so much money off of that, but that wasn’t even the most important thing, because that’s when he started betting.”

“Betting on ...,” Draco said slowly.

“The matches,” Ron answered for him. “It all unravelled when we started investigating Greyson. You see, when the _Prophet_ reported about Harry’s girlfriend, it seriously affected his performance. The Falcons were sure to win against the Wigtown Wanderers, but instead they lost epically.”

“Yes … that was what Pembroke said. That was actually why we _didn’t_ suspect Greyson …”

“There was a huge uproar in the betting community. Some people lost all they had. Greyson got death threats, just because he was the coach, so that’s how he took note. He approached Bagman and they set it up.”

“Bagman?!” This whole thing just kept getting more absurd. “I thought he was reformed. Works with addicts.”

“Yeah,” muttered Harry. “He _worked_ with them, alright. Got them involved.”

Ron nodded. “There was a whole betting circle involving a bunch of teams. Coaches, Healers, players, even some referees. They’d make agreements and then manipulate their teams by injuring them on purpose, pulling players from the line-up at the last minute, stuff like that.”

“You’re not serious.” All three of them nodded. “So, the incident with the Lightning Blast –?”

Ron shook his head. “That really was an accident. Greyson lost a huge bet because Harry couldn’t play for so long afterwards. That’s why he kept pestering him to return.”

“So, he made Dayal clear you prematurely.”

Harry shook his head. His eyes were hard and cold. “He didn’t _make_ Dayal do anything. He was in on it. Greyson told him who needed to play and who needed to be held back, and Dayal got paid for it.”

Draco needed to process this. It was almost impossible to believe.

He had never liked Dayal, but he still was a Healer. He had sworn to _help_ people to the best of his abilities. Draco never would’ve thought that any of his colleagues would be capable of doing this.

And wasn’t that just stupid? He of all people should’ve known what people could do to each other.

“No _wonder_ he was furious when you replaced Dayal with me.”

“You really rained on his parade,” Hermione said, this time with a small smile. “You didn’t care about Greyson’s plans for the team and he started losing bets again. Even worse: other people inside this cartel lost as well, because Greyson couldn’t keep his end of the bargain. So he focused on getting rid of you.”

“By _murdering_ me? That’s a bit rash, don’t you think?”

“We don’t think he really wanted to murder you, at first,” said Ron, twirling his wand. “He started by outing your relationship, remember? That got you out of the picture, though Harry got banned for months because of it.”

Hermione sighed. “But then you started investigating on your own. We’re not sure if he was aware before that night –”

“ _Olivia!_ ” Draco suddenly burst out.

All of them frowned at him like they were worried about his sanity. Draco struggled to sit up and Hermione helped him by charming his bed in an upright position.

“It was a dog,” Harry said shortly. “There were witnesses. I _saw_ –”

“Before that,” Draco interrupted. “Olivia was so absent-minded. She kept badmouthing me, and it was so uncharacteristic for her. I saw it in your Pensieve. She called me _‘Malfoy’_. She’s never done that before. And the owl was there.”

“ _No_ ,” Hermione breathed, covering her mouth with both hands. He could see tears glistening in her eyes and felt sick to his stomach.

“What?” said Ron and Harry impatiently.

“ _Imperius_ ,” Hermione whispered.

“You skipped the first match after your ban, because of what happened on your birthday, right? You were getting better and then _I_ caused you to bail.”

“ _Mate_ ,” Ron said severely, giving Harry a pointed look.

Only then did Draco register how static the air had become. Hermione was gripping her wand tightly, though she was trying not to show how anxious she was. Draco couldn’t blame them – he knew exactly how violent Harry’s outbursts could become. He had a feeling there wasn’t much of Harry’s attic left standing.

“I’d like to kill him all over again,” Harry pressed out, flexing his hands. “Only more violently this time.”

“I know, mate,” Ron said carefully. “But you already got him good. Practically broke all his bones and then he got impaled on some steel beams – right through the stomach. And you know how much rubble we had to dig through to find him.”

“How can he condemn Draco wholesale and then turn around and use a Muggle for his own gain? He was _there_! As Odysseus. I thought he’d sent him to tell me off, but he really was just watching how it all played out with Olivia. He _saw_ what happened and didn’t even get her help, even though it was _his_ fault.”

“I know, Harry, we know,” Hermione whispered. Tears were streaming down her face now.

“Two Muggles _died_!”

Draco grabbed his forearm and held on even though he received a nasty shock for it. Harry faced him, eyes still full of anger and hurt but also a little concern.

“We’ll get her professional help. She got hurt by magic, that means the Ministry owes her that much. There must be a way to help her.” Draco paused for a second, thinking. “We could erase her memory of the incident, at _least_. Maybe we can make them pay her some money as well, to help with accessible housing and the sort.”

“There’s a programme for Muggles that get hurt by magical beasts,” Hermione supplied, getting up from her chair. “I’ll contact some people, pull some strings, maybe implement a new programme. We’ll see you tomorrow, Draco. We are really glad you’re alright.”

“Thank you,” said Draco silently, and she stepped up and pressed a kiss against his temple, one hand light on his shoulder. Then she made her way over to the door with Ron hot on her heels.

“Yeah, thanks, Hermione,” Harry agreed, and some of the tension left his body.

They were silent for a moment, just looking at each other. Then Draco had a sudden thought he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten for so long. “Aurelius ...?”

Harry smiled and Draco’s heart beat a little faster. “He’s with Blaise and Ginny, don’t worry.”

Draco was almost too choked up to talk properly. “He survived?”

“When I woke up, the whole hospital was jam-packed with Aurors. But you left the Cloak, thank Merlin, and then I managed to call Kreacher and he Apparated us to your house.”

“Kreacher? You just said there were Aurors right there with you.”

Harry mumbled something and looked up at the ceiling. Then, when Draco didn’t say anything else, he finally admitted, “I had just woken up from being interrogated by your double, I had no idea how much time had passed and if the people outside my room were even real Aurors.”

“I didn’t mean it as an accusation,” said Draco silently. “I was just confused. So, Kreacher took you to my house.”

“Yeah … I thought Dayal might’ve gone there because _I_ _told him_ that you had the memory.”

Harry was squaring his jaw and Draco just knew he blamed himself, even though he had been under the influence of Veritaserum. Then it occurred to him.

“Wait a second – _Dayal_? I thought it was _Greyson_!”

Harry shook his head absentmindedly. “Not Greyson. _Dayal_ failed to Obliviate me before I got to talk to you, so he took the Polyjuice and interrogated me. They were working together that night.”

Draco cussed. This kept getting worse and worse by the minute, though he really shouldn’t have been so surprised by this revelation. At least now he knew why the double had known their way around Mungo’s.

“Did he confess?”

Another shake of his head. “He’s dead too. Boomslang venom. He must’ve told Greyson what happened at St. Mungo’s so he could deal with you. I don’t know what Dayal was supposed to do next, but I’m guessing he was going to take care of my memory as soon as the coast was clear. They found him in the changing rooms. He probably didn’t even _realise_ that Em’s venomous.”

“So, you went to my house ... which got blown up,” Draco prompted, adding the second part as a sober afterthought.

All of it felt like some remote dream somebody else had told him about, but he felt no small amount of satisfaction at the thought of Dayal dying painfully and all alone.

“Greyson clearly wanted it to look like an accident, so he blew up the gas stove. We searched for you, but found Aurelius instead. I told Kreacher to take him to the Scamander Centre and bring Ron to my house afterwards. I thought maybe you had gone there to hide. I didn’t think _he_ could be inside.”

“How _did_ he get in?” Draco just couldn’t make sense of it. “He Apparated directly into your house; he shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

“It’s my fault,” Harry said, closing his eyes like the realisation was too painful to bear. “I allowed Odysseus into my wards, so I let _him_ in as well. It’s my fault you nearly died. _I_ almost killed you _myself_ , up in the attic. He looked like you and he was pretending to be hurt, I just couldn’t think straight anymore.”

“It’s not your fault,” Draco said sternly. “He fooled me too. Looked like you when he kidnapped me.”

“Em told me what happened,” Harry said. His face was caught between grief and ... _pride_? “You figured him out so fast, even though you were hurt. And the trick with the boggart – genius.”

The boggart, yes. The red-headed body had been Greyson’s daughter then – Katherine. And now that Draco’s brain was working properly again, he recalled that the woman he’d seen in Greyson’s mind on Valentine’s Day had been blonde. Probably his wife.

“It’s not like I planned any of it,” Draco muttered. “It all just sort of happened and all I did was _try_ not to die throughout.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “That’s how it usually goes. These things always sound way more heroic than they really are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, many of you actually figured this out pretty early on. I’ve got to say, I was really impressed (or maybe a little confused about my apparently not that sneaky writing skills). 😅 Well, I’d rather you figure it out than the resolution coming completely out of the blue. 😊


	87. A Mighty Ocean or a Gentle Kiss (Sunday, November 12th 2006)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments: Justforthedead, pieragrine, MissMako, yolle, Speedy_Typhoon, Slytherinz_Ghost, zarahzoe, ulysses_the_bird, Fan, filidoune, WildvanillaRose, Rionaa, trashseme, gimger_bred, Alisha, kylorrren, PureSlytherin, fangirl15, ThatBoringOne, big3, SHkatty, SlytherinSeaWitch, windowcracks, Anonymous, serilla, minijaxter, anony, AlluraBelle, SimplySomeone, adventurous_potato, EmmaGraceWinchester, Zezily, kovudraeken18, Hime_chu, hush_over_the_night, deviantgumiho and k! 😘
> 
> Glad you liked and I didn’t scare you off! 🤗 Gotta be honest, I didn’t think you’d like Olivia that much and more than once I was _so_ tempted to swap her with somebody else for the accident. 🙈 I felt so bad doing all of that to her, but in the end, I needed it to hit hard and I needed it to mean something that Draco chooses Harry instead.
> 
> Now that’s out of the way, let’s see what else needs wrapping up. 😊
> 
> Title: Sleeping at Last – Two (Thanks so much for the rec, Eddie 😊)

The good thing about being at St. Mungo’s was that Draco got the good stuff. He took the offered potions and slept like a rock – one of those special river rocks, that otters liked to collect and cling to in their sleep.

Harry (Potter, otter, it wasn’t even that much of a stretch, right?), who claimed to have transfigured the visitors’ chair into a second bed for the last two weeks, didn’t deem that necessary now that Draco was conscious again. Draco surely didn’t complain, though the Mungo’s staff did frequently – which Harry didn’t give a damn about.

And who were _they_ to tell Harry Potter to do anything?

The bad thing about being at St. Mungo’s was the food, but Draco didn’t have to worry about that.

There was an endless coming and going of Weasleys and their _‘family’_ (which included all of their partners as well as Neville, Hannah and Luna and also Andromeda and Teddy). And every single one of them had been assigned the job of providing him with Mrs. Weasley’s cooking.

If it kept going on like that, it would only take him a week to gain back all the weight he had lost in the last month.

“ _So_ ,” Harry said slowly, stroking the tender skin on the inside of Draco’s left arm. “What are your feelings about _that_?”

Draco took a moment to think about it, savouring the feeling of Harry’s arm draped around him and their bodies pressed together.

“It’s weird. I can’t say I miss it, of course, but still ... I had come to terms with the fact that I would have to live with it for the rest of my life, and now it’s just ... _gone_.”

“Not like they had an alternative,” Harry murmured into his ear. His breath felt comfortably warm against Draco’s neck. “You wouldn’t be here if they had left it. It was killing you.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Draco said grimly.

He generally tried not to think about Euan Abercrombie or Harry’s car accident. He couldn’t really wrap his head around the fact that he had been in the same position just a month ago. And now they were gone, not a single curse scar left on his body.

“Your own method saved your life,” Harry said. “Isn’t that amazing? I’m _really_ glad I let you experiment on me.”

“Yes,” Draco whispered. “Me too.”

Harry breathed out noisily. “It’s not cheating. You didn’t _choose_ to have it removed. Not like you’re trying to cover up your past.”

“ _You_ know that. Not everybody does.”

“Well, they all bloody well should know that you are a good person. You’ve saved so many lives already. I can’t even remember how many times you’ve saved mine.”

“Guess I’ll just show people this memory next time they turn up their noses at me. I’m guessing your _‘borrowed’_ Pensieve didn’t survive?”

“I think it would be faster if I told you what _did_ survive.” Harry sighed.

They hadn’t really talked about what had happened apart from the brief summary the trio had given him the day before. They hadn’t even gotten out of bed all day. They’d just slept and cuddled and talked about trivial things with their visitors and then slept some more.

Draco marvelled at Harry’s endurance. He hadn’t even gone to the bathroom once – unless he’d used his chance when Draco had been asleep.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Erm … so, there’s us, of course. And Em. And I think Hermione told me they found a cupboard of pans that are still intact.”

“That’s quality. What about that scarf? You know, the green one?” If that was gone as well, it would be worse than all of Draco’s wardrobe combined.

Harry tensed immediately, and when he breathed in, it was a cold draft against Draco’s throat. “Gone. But if it weren’t, I’d burn it myself. Want to know who gave that to me?”

“It wasn’t Greyson, was it? Don’t tell me it was enchanted or something.”

But Samantha checked Harry’s mail for curses and the like, right? Except the things that had been sent to his house directly.

Harry seemed to shake his head. “His daughter, Kate. I might’ve missed that she was a bit … obsessed. When you wore that stupid scarf to the Hogwarts match, it tipped her off. And then she told her father about her suspicions and all he had to do was pay us some more visits.”

“That’s so fucked up,” muttered Draco.

“Yeah.” Harry was silent for several seconds, and when he talked, it was obvious that he was eager to change the topic. “So _basically_ , I’m homeless.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think about maybe letting you stay with me,” Draco said generously, stifling a yawn. Talking was exhausting.

“ _You_ are also homeless.”

“ _Excuse_ me? As far as I could tell, only the kitchen caved in. So, I’ve still got _half_ a house.”

Harry inhaled slowly. The intake of breath against his neck made Draco shiver and Harry draped the blanket tighter around them. “The structure’s damaged.”

“Then I’ll just undamage it. That’s what magic is for, right?”

Harry sighed again. “The whole neighbourhood knows about the gas explosion. I _think_ they would notice if your house was suddenly intact again.”

Draco groaned. “So, what about _your_ house? Muggles can’t see it.”

There was a huffed laugh from Harry. “The ruin’s brimming with magic. Trying to fix it wouldn’t be safe. Besides, _everybody_ can see it now. All the wards were destroyed.”

“Oh … sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “You can imagine the conspiracy theories the Muggles have come up with. Two separate houses destroyed on the _same_ night, miles apart.”

“Yes … that does sound slightly suspicious.”

“It doesn’t help that all my Snitches got loose when the house collapsed. They’re still roaming through London. The Muggles think they’re drones.”

“ _Bees?_ ”

Harry laughed again, for real this time, and Draco’s heart beat a little faster. When things had taken a turn for the worst during the attack, he hadn’t deemed it possible that he would ever hear his laugh again. But here they were.

“Drones are little flying objects. Muggles use them to take pictures or shoot explosives at each other.”

“I’m sorry, what? Did you say _explosives_?” How did people go from photographs to _explosives_?

“Muggles can get pretty creative.”

Draco scoffed. “Muggles are fucking crazy.”

“ _People_ are fucking crazy.”

“True,” Draco said slowly. “That reminds me… How does Quidditch work now that we know how corrupt it is?”

“It doesn’t,” Harry said. He didn’t elaborate for at least a whole minute, stroking Draco’s arm in circles and wavy patterns. Then, finally, he said, “They retroactively cancelled the whole season and it’s unclear if the new season will start as scheduled. We’ll have to see who else is involved, I guess.”

“No Quidditch for the rest of the _year_?” Draco turned his head to look at Harry over his shoulder.

Harry’s eyes flicked to Draco’s forehead instead of meeting his. “Yeah. At the very least.” His voice sounded strangely emotionless.

Draco could imagine the toll it took on Harry. He’d been banned for months, then he’d been gravely injured and unfit to fly for another two months, and just when he’d managed to get back on the broom, they _cancelled_ Quidditch altogether.

Draco just hoped that none of the Falcons’ players were involved. He knew that Harry would take it especially hard, because he trusted all of the starters unconditionally.

They had tried to visit Harry several times when Draco had still been unconscious. But _Harry_ had refused to leave Draco’s side, and the _Aurors_ had refused to let them into Draco’s room while it was still unclear who else could be out to get them.

“What are you going to do while you can’t play?”

Harry still wouldn’t meet his eyes, so Draco turned away again to ease the conversation. He felt Harry shrug behind him.

“I haven’t really thought about it yet. Guess I’ll have to, now that I know you’re going to be alright.”

“Maybe it’s _finally_ time to write your biography?” Draco suggested with a grin.

Harry poked his side and Draco tried to slap his hand away, missing him by a good two seconds.

“I think _three_ biographies are enough for somebody under thirty.”

Draco scoffed. “I don’t count that rubbish. One of them claims that you were raised in a castle by a group of house elves and that your first human contact was on your eleventh birthday, when Dumbledore himself picked you up on a flying carpet and brought you to Hogwarts.”

Harry laughed suddenly and then started to choke on his own spit. Draco turned around to slap him on the back until he was gasping for air again.

“Don’t tell me you _read_ them.”

“I’ll have you know that it was a regular Wednesday dinner drinking game before you crashed all of those. At least on the days that had us completely stressed out. Those books are _very_ entertaining.”

“I think I might actually have preferred the house elf castle to the Dursleys.”

“I can’t have been _that_ bad,” Draco objected. Alright, Harry had slept in a cupboard, but still. They were his family, after all.

“Oh, believe me. It was.”

Draco scooted closer and pressed his face against Harry’s chest. His heart was beating a comforting rhythm against Draco’s ear. “When was the last time you saw them?”

“Summer of ’97, when I had to convince them to abandon the house and move somewhere safe. _Several times_ I had to convince them. My uncle kept changing his mind. Thought it was a plot to get the house for myself, the idiot. My cousin was quite _nice_ , actually.”

“What did he do?”

He felt Harry chuckle slightly. “Told me I wasn’t a waste of space. It was very emotional.”

“I’m sorry, do you know the meaning of the word _‘emotional’_?”

Harry’s hand was in his hair now, stroking it slowly. “We are talking about a family that never once called me by my name in sixteen years. I thought my name was _‘Boy’_ until I started primary school.”

Draco raised both eyebrows, and, when he realised that Harry couldn’t see that, he made a non-committal noise.

Harry sighed softly. “Alright, then imagine if _you_ had told me the same thing in ... I don’t know, fifth year?”

“Fifth?” Draco asked. “Why not sixth?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like we hated each other most during fifth.” Harry thought about it and then added, “Alright, _maybe_ the first part of sixth was worse. You broke my nose. _Bastard_.”

Sixth year had definitely been the worst one for Draco. It had been alright at first and then spiralled completely out of control. In the end, he had spent almost every single sleepless night wishing that Harry fucking Potter would just drop dead.

Draco had projected all his frustration and desperation and fear onto him. If Harry hadn’t survived as a baby, then the war would already have been decided a decade and a half earlier and Draco wouldn’t have gotten into that whole mess. If Harry had finished the Dark Lord off for good, everything would’ve been fine. If Harry had been dead, maybe the Dark Lord wouldn’t have been as hell-bent on disposing of the one man who had been keeping him safe.

It all had come down to Harry fucking Potter.

Draco said none of that, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “Do you know where they are now? The Muggles.”

Harry shrugged. “I never asked. Three members of the order knew, but they’re all dead. Not that it matters; I really don’t miss them. They certainly don’t miss me.”

“Their loss.”

Harry pulled him closer into his arms and placed a kiss on his forehead. “ _Aw_ , you sap.”

“ _Tsk!_ ”

~o~

Draco must’ve fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes next, dusk was already falling and Blaise and Ginny were there. They were standing on either side of Harry, who was on his hands and knees somewhere between the bed and the bathroom.

“Did you _fall_?” Draco mumbled, propping himself up on one arm.

Harry shot him a quick look and allowed his friends to help him up. Then he leaned against the nearest wall to massage his right leg, grinning at Draco half-heartedly.

“My leg went to sleep. Maybe because you’ve been _lying on it._ ”

Draco grumbled. “Can’t believe I missed that. Please be sure to do it again another time.”

“Let’s hope not,” Harry replied, limping over to the bathroom.

Blaise watched as Ginny dragged both visitor chairs over to Draco’s other side and then flopped herself in one of them.

Draco raised an eyebrow which she acknowledged with a shrug. “Thought you might want to look out of the window while we talk.” There was a promising grin on her face. “Maybe you’ll see one of Harry’s Snitches.”

“They’re everywhere,” Blaise agreed, sitting down as well. “You know Sophia Grant?”

“Puddlemere United?”

“That’s the one. She caught one of the Snitches. Auctioned it off for about two hundred galleons.”

Draco whistled. “That’s fucking crazy. Let’s hope nobody finds a pair of his pants lying in the streets somewhere. People might go broke over that.”

“Is his name written on those, too?” Blaise asked with a grin. “There needs to be at least some sort of proof that they’re his.”

“Well, everybody knows Harry only wears _red_ pants,” Ginny added. “So that’s at least one criterion to meet.”

All of them were giggling when Harry came up from behind and plonked down on the empty space beside Draco.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, grinning too.

“Your pants,” Ginny sniggered.

“Yeah, Harry,” Draco giggled. “What colour are you wearing today?”

“Erm,” Harry said, apparently trying to remember. “Red, _I_ _think_?”

They cracked up again.

“It’s not my fault! All of my pants got blown up!” he yelled over the sound of their laughter, crossing his arms. Then he immediately let go again to point at Ginny, pouting. “ _Your_ mom bought these for me. Go and laugh in _her_ face, if you must.”

“ _I_ most definitely won’t,” Blaise laughed. “She scares me.”

“Typical mum.” Ginny smiled indulgently. “She’s gotten better, but some things she’ll still believe, as long as they’re random enough. Who would _ever_ bother to make up Harry’s pants preferences?”

“ _Yeah!_ ” Harry agreed. Then, when all of them started laughing again, he added, “No, but honestly. _Who_ even thought of that?”

“Well, _I_ heard it from Tabitha Woods, who heard it from Jackson Jones, who heard it from a _‘reliable source’_ ,” Draco said. “I _also_ happen to know that Jones _does_ only wear red pants, though that decision was of course directly influenced by the rumours he heard about _your_ pants.”

“ _Why ...?_ ” Harry muttered.

“Maybe he thinks if you ever meet in just your pants, you’ll be _so_ embarrassed you’re matching that you’ll take them off?” Blaise suggested.

Harry made a face. “He’s _what_ , eighteen?”

“Nineteen,” Ginny said. “And don’t act so surprised, you’ve got plenty of _underage_ admirers too.”

“Ugh, thanks, Gin. Now you’ve definitely ruined my appetite.”

“That reminds me!” Ginny rummaged in the pockets of her jacket and produced a total of _eight_ different food containers, which she unshrunk with a wave of her wand.

“Don’t tell me _that’s_ _it_ already,” Draco said mockingly.

Did Mrs. Weasley think they were hosting a dinner party at St. Mungo’s?

Ginny grinned as Blaise put a hand inside his pocket and pulled out a small package. Harry’s groan was even louder than Draco’s.

“Don’t worry,” said Blaise, charming the package to its original size and revealing a neatly folded stack of clothes. “You don’t have to eat this.”

“Thank God,” Harry sighed, taking the stack from Blaise to look it through.

Inside were two new paintings by Teddy, bringing the total count up to thirty-two, as well as a whole stack of brand-new clothes. At first it wasn’t hard to guess which clothes were for Harry and which were for Draco. Harry put all of the blue sweaters, pants and socks on Draco’s legs and kept the red ones.

But then they reached the second to last item, which was a light grey sweater with a green snake on the front. Draco grabbed it on instinct, glaring at Harry when he wouldn’t let go.

The rest of the package tumbled off the bed in a heap, but neither one of them was willing to take their hands off the sweater to retrieve it.

“Those are _Slytherin_ colours, Potter.”

“She likes to give me green,” Harry countered. “It _highlights_ my eyes, you know?”

“Well, and _my_ eyes are grey,” Draco said, pointing from the vast grey area of the sweater to his own eyes and back again. “Also, the snake is Slytherin’s sigil.”

“I’ve got a snake!”

“Boys!” Ginny interrupted. “Can’t you just _– I don’t know –_ share it?”

“Share?” Harry said in disbelief. “With _Malfoy_?”

“You _do_ share everything else,” Blaise pointed out. “Even a hospital bed. And what about that stupid blue t-shirt?”

“That was _mine_!” Harry insisted. “Draco just kept stealing it.”

Draco gave him a scandalised look. “Was not!”

“Boys!” Ginny repeated. “There was another one underneath, right? Let’s just see who that belongs to and the other gets this one.”

“ _Tsk_ ,” they made in unison, hands still firmly planted on the snake sweater.

Ginny bent down to fetch the sweater, muttering something under her breath that sounded very much like _“twenty-six years old”_.

She held the sweater up backwards, so that only she and Blaise could see the front and all Harry and Draco saw was the dark grey knitted fabric.

“Well, I mean ...,” Blaise said uncertainly.

“What is it?” The level of impatience in Harry’s voice was a surprise to exactly no one. He just wasn’t made to wait for anything.

“I guess we could draw lots?” Ginny suggested.

“ _What is it?_ ” Harry asked again, this time in unison with Draco.

Blaise took the sweater from Ginny and turned it around. Stitched to the front was a silvery-white falcon.

Draco threw the snake sweater in Harry’s face and used the distraction to grab the second one instead. Harry could keep the Slytherin one. Draco had always wanted to see him in his colours anyway. Win-win.

“Malfoy!” Harry growled, clutching the snake sweater to his chest.

“My Patronus is a falcon!” Draco argued, pulling the sweater over his head even though he was already wearing one.

“ _I_ was a Falcon!” Harry shot back.

“ _Was?_ ” Draco raised an eyebrow and tried to straighten the sweater, which wasn’t that easy, because his arm movement was slightly constricted by the mass of fabric.

“ _Am_ ,” Harry corrected. He seemed to deflate a little and put the snake sweater on top of his own pile. “You know what I mean. Stupid hiatus. Stupid corrupt bastards.”

Draco leaned over to pat his arm and Harry grumbled. Then he seemed to have a brainwave and said in a sing-song voice, “If it’s meant to be your Patronus, why did she use Falmouth colours?”

“Because my eyes are _still_ grey,” Draco sang back.

Ginny pressed a container into his hands and handed both of them forks. “Eat before it gets cold. Mom made me promise to check that you really ate _everything_.”


	88. After the Landslide [Wednesday, November 15th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to these baby falcons: Justforthedead, ulysses_the_bird, onederfulwall, Anonymous, prongslet612, glibstripes, Rionaa, Superfan1224, SlytherinSeaWitch, pieragrine, WildvanillaRose, onederfulwall, Bookmysterr, adventurous_potato, ThatBoringOne, Wynterfox, hush_over_the_night, AcadianProud, windowcracks, Eddie, EmmaGraceWinchester, Slytherinz_Ghost, SHkatty, Alisha, Fan, filidoune, kylorrren, deviantgumiho, big3, Mistress_Magda, k and Speedy_Typhoon! 🥰
> 
> You’re all such cuties and I love every single one of you. 😘 I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do when this is over. 😅 I have a feeling I should probably get into tumblr or something so I can continue talking to you, but I don’t really understand it (I promise I’m not _that_ old!). I’m on reddit, but I’m not sure if any of you even use that?
> 
> Man, you guys sure love sweaters! Also, I listen to all your song recs and every line that I like goes into my Word doc! 😉 Gotta be honest, I’ve got 15 pages of them already – just title ideas. 😂
> 
>  **Also** : someone asked if they could translate this fic into Russian! That’s so exciting!! 😱
> 
> Title: Matt Simons – After The Landslide

Draco awoke with a start when something heavy fell over with a massive crash. He groped blindly for his wand, which wasn’t there of course, because he wasn’t supposed to do magic yet.

“ _Wha- ?_ ” he slurred drowsily, throwing back the blanket and sitting up on the edge of his bed. “Harry?”

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbled, sounding rather resigned.

There were footsteps from outside and then the door burst open. In the light from the hallway Draco could see Harry sitting on the floor in his pyjamas, both legs outstretched.

Auror Lancaster was standing on the threshold, wand held high and eyes scanning the room.

“It’s alright,” Harry said in tone that suggested he wasn’t that happy about all the attention. “I just tripped in the dark is all.”

Lancaster regarded him with a frown and came over to help him up. “You know you’re supposed to –”

“– make a light? Yeah, _I know_ ,” Harry replied pointedly while flexing first his left and then his right leg. “Didn’t want to wake Draco.”

It was too dark for Draco to see what kind of look Lancaster was giving Harry, but it did last a good two seconds. “Are you sure you don’t want me to –”

“Quite sure,” Harry pressed out. Then he added in an only slightly more pleasant voice, “ _Thanks,_ Lancaster.”

Lancaster only glanced at Draco before he left them alone again.

“That was weird,” Draco said, looking after him with a frown.

There was no answer and when he turned back, Harry had vanished into the bathroom. He stayed in there for several minutes.

When the door finally opened again, Harry stuck his head out carefully. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but Draco could have sworn that his face slipped for a split second when he saw him sitting upright in bed.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly. “You really didn’t have to wait up for me. You could’ve gone back to sleep. Now I feel bad about waking you up.”

“It doesn’t matter. Come back to bed, will you?”

Harry sighed and made his way back. He was trying his hardest to walk like he usually would, but Draco could see the way his whole body tensed, and he was favouring his right leg ever so slightly. Another person probably wouldn’t have noticed, but Draco was no idiot and also a seasoned Healer.

“You don’t have to play the hero, Potter. Did you hurt your leg when you fell?”

Harry shrugged non-committally as he dropped down beside Draco and dragged him into his arms. Draco had a suspicion that he did this so Draco couldn’t fuss over his leg.

“Same leg as yesterday?”

“Well, seeing as I’ve only got _two_ of them, there was a 50-50 chance.”

“It must be pretty banged up by now.”

A shrug was all the answer Draco got. He supposed that a few bruises were nothing especially distressing to somebody who played professional Quidditch for the Falmouth Falcons. Harry was probably more worried when he _didn’t_ have at least a small injury at all times.

Then Harry decided to answer after all. “If it falls off, I’ll just ask Em for advice. She gets by with _no_ legs.”

Draco snorted. “You didn’t leave her with Blaise too, did you?” He had the sudden mental image of Emerald being flung across the room by Sooky the house elf.

“Nah. She’s with Hagrid. Let’s just hope he’ll give her back.”

“He’d better,” Draco muttered. “I owe her about a million mice. Without her, I’d be dead three times over.”

“To think that _you_ didn’t want me to keep her.” The smirk on Harry’s face was barely hidden underneath his words.

Draco huffed and hugged him closer, enjoying the silence for several seconds.

“Fine, you were right and I was wrong. A boomslang is the perfect pet.”

“Why did you have to smash my Pensieve?” Harry said, faking sadness (poorly).

“ _Dumbledore’s_ Pensieve,” Draco interjected.

“Shut it. I didn’t think I would ever hear you say those words and now I have no way of reliving them.”

“It certainly won’t happen again.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Harry smoothed down Draco’s hair. “So, I’ve been thinking –”

Draco giggled. It was early, it was dark, he couldn’t exactly control it. “Sounds dangerous.”

Harry poked his side. “Shut up. As I was saying, I’ve been thinking.”

Draco’s eyes were closed again. He felt warm, secure, happy. Ready to drift off to sleep and dream more warm, happy, secure things. “About ...?”

“About how your house is uninhabitable and mine is just a pile of rubble.”

Slightly less happy now. “Ah, _cheerful_ thoughts, I see.”

“We’re moving in together,” Harry rushed out all at once.

Draco leaned away to try and have a look at his face, raising both of his eyebrows while he was at it. No matter if Harry could actually see it or not. “Is that an established fact?”

“Could’ve been a question,” Harry said defensively, clearly unhappy with the way things were unfolding. “If you hadn’t insisted on _interrupting_ me throughout all of it.”

“Well,” Draco said slowly, thinking it over in his head. After everything that had gone down, he didn’t have any particular desire to be separated from Harry for longer than absolutely necessary. “Seems like the matter is already decided. Not like I could decline at this point without being incredibly impolite.”

There was a knock at the door before Harry could reply. They disentangled quickly, sitting up to face the door. It was Nash, accompanied by a mediwitch who was levitating their breakfast trays.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully, flicking her wand at the blinds, which flipped to let in some sunlight.

She held out her hand and two charts came flying into their room. She dropped the one labelled _‘Malfoy, Draco Lucius’_ onto Draco’s bedside table and opened the other one.

“Hey!” Harry protested at once, leaning forward as if he was considering whether or not to take the chart from her. “I’m not a patient.”

Nash didn’t even spare him a glance. “Seeing as you are in a hospital bed, I’d say you _are_ a patient. Besides, I heard you fell again?”

“That bloody snitch!”

Nash and Harry had a silent staring match that lasted several seconds, during which Draco phrased every possible variant of _‘I thought you loved Snitches’_ in his head, discarding all of them in the end out of sheer pity. No need to remind Harry that he wouldn’t be playing for at least two months.

“Either you let me take a look or you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight, mate.”

Harry pushed the blanket away forcefully and swung both legs over the edge of the bed, turning his back on Draco. Draco tried to lean over so he could watch, but two Healers had already rounded the bed to attend to him in the meantime.

“You’re such a Slytherin,” Harry grumbled as Nash examined him.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Nash sounded as offended as she always did when someone tried to sort her. “I’m a proud Puff!”

Harry groaned excessively.

“Appropriate reaction,” said Draco. “At least you can bargain with a Slytherin. But _her_ sort? Overprotective. Let me see that.”

And he grabbed the chart Nash had snapped shut after making a short note, just to make sure that Harry was really alright.

“Absolutely not!” Nash said in a very stern voice, but Harry had already snatched his file away from him. “You’re a patient; I’ll not have you work your _boyfriend’s_ case while you’re here!”

Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest. “See? Overprotective. I’m perfectly capable of reading some notes. It’s not like I’m going to perform any magic soon.”

But Nash didn’t relent.

~o~

“New Year’s Eve. Was that _him_ too?”

Harry, who was sitting cross-legged at Draco’s feet, gritted his teeth.

Ron helped himself to another one of Draco’s Chocolate Frogs and nodded. “He matched the unknown magical signature on the cups. Nobody saw him at the party, so he was never even a _suspect_.”

“How did he do it? He couldn’t have turned into an owl to poison Harry’s drink, right?”

“Well, it seems that he obtained a sample of Polyjuice Potion containing Squib hair at an illegal Polyjuice Party.” If Ron noticed the look Draco and Harry exchanged, he didn’t show it. “Maybe he thought he wouldn’t leave a signature that way. He was just lucky that we didn’t have it already and he wasn’t a suspect to begin with.”

“That’s wild,” said Draco, completely floored.

He tried to picture it in his head – a grown wizard so desperate to manipulate a match that he willingly Polyjuiced himself to poison one of his own players. On New Year’s Eve, no less. Hadn’t he had anything better to do?

“ _Wait a minute_ ...” added Draco slowly. “I thought the unknown signatures weren’t relevant because of the timing? There was always somebody else in possession of the cup before Harry.”

“Leo,” said Harry. “Matt gave it to her.”

“And she ... _no_. She passed it on to you? _No_.” Draco actually shook his head. Leona Robinson was the last person he’d think capable of poisoning her own team.

Hermione shook her head too, a firm expression on her face. “She didn’t give it to him. The drink was meant for _her_. Harry just –”

“I took it from her.” Harry was definitely avoiding his eyes.

“Leona suffered a convenient concussion just a day before the next match,” said Ron solemnly. “It’s embarrassing, but nobody ever stopped to consider that Harry wasn’t even the target. He just always _is_.”

Draco couldn’t help but kick Harry’s shin for so much stupidity. “You nearly _died_ because you drank the Confounding Concoction that was mixed _specifically_ for someone forty pounds heavier than you? You moron!”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t say _‘Confounding Concoction’_ on her cup.”

“Let’s hope this teaches you some manners.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged dubious looks. Seemed about right.

~o~

Meeting with Samantha afterwards was almost as unpleasant.

She had a harried look on her face and spoke up the second she had crossed the door and taken her place at the window. “Harry, you really need to think about what you want to tell the public.”

“And _why_ would I need to do that?”

She threw her hands up immediately. “Because it’s been a month and we still haven’t given an official statement, that’s why!”

“Great,” said Harry stroppily. “If it’s worked for one month, it can work for the rest of them too.”

“You _think_?” Samantha said shortly. “Because I don’t think it is working. People are still camped outside. They think you’re _dying_ or in a coma or paralysed or something equally unpleasant.”

Harry leapt up from the bed, gesturing wildly at the door. “People have _seen_ me! I met Draco’s _parents_ , for fuck’s sake!”

“The _press_ hasn’t seen you – which really is impressive, I have to admit – and people don’t necessarily believe each other even if they swear that they’ve seen you up and about.”

“That’s not _my_ problem! I don’t owe them anything!”

Now Samantha was shouting too. “It _is_ your problem, because the longer we wait the more desperate they get! Some of them have taken to waiting outside the Ministry and ambushing your family! Do you really want to ask your family to deal with that in your place?”

“ _Fine!_ ” Harry sat back down hard. “I’ll do the Quibbler.”

“Harry –”

Harry’s arms were already crossed. “I’ll do the Quibbler or nothing at all. Luna can do it; she wrote an article once.”

“Yes,” said Samantha pointedly. “About whether or not the Antipodean Opaleye could possibly be not a dragon but rather a collection of very determined Crumble-Horned Snorkacks.”

“Right,” said Harry, only just supressing a grin. “If she can make a story out of _that_ , she can completely distract them from my issues as well. We’ll probably be talking about whether releasing my Snitches could lead to a resurfacing of the Golden Snidget.”

Samantha breathed in deeply, but it didn’t seem to calm her. “Harry, you know I only like you like 70 percent of the time –”

“Sure, that’s why I _hired_ you.”

“– so, you can take what I say now at face value: That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Harry snapped his fingers at her. “Brilliant! Maybe they’ll lose interest.”

“They won’t!”

“Let it go,” said Draco, who felt another massive headache coming if this continued for much longer. “He almost died. Again. He should be allowed to do whatever he wants.”

Samantha gave him a disappointed look. “You know, Draco, I liked you better when you were on my side.”

“Reasonable. Nobody likes having to argue against me,” said Draco. Harry gave him a look that said very clearly that he _did_ , in fact, enjoy it, so Draco added, “ _You_ don’t count. You just like _arguing_ , full stop.”

“I don’t _like_ –”

“Oh, yes you bloody well do. There you go arguing again.”

“It’s not my fault people are wrong about me most of the time and unreasonable for the rest of it.”

Samantha sighed deeply. “Sorry, but the Quibbler won’t do. People need to be told that you’re alright by a reliable source.”

“Reliable?” said Harry, exchanging a very pointed look with Draco. “That leaves absolutely none of them.”

“Fine.” Samantha groaned, throwing her head back in frustration and brushing through her pink hair with both hands. “Here’s my last offer –”


	89. Standing on the Edge with You [Sunday, November 26th 2006]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the second to last time: Thanks to everybody who commented: windowcracks, Anonymous, Mystical.Moose, Mystical.Moose, Mystical.Moose, Rionaa, Justforthedead, kylorrren, pieragrine, noodledoodlezoo, ulysses_the_bird, Fan, Slytherinz_Ghost, big3, EmmaGraceWinchester, Speedy_Typhoon, ThatBoringOne, deviantgumiho, deviantgumiho, Krazykoolkitty214, Eddie, serilla, Alisha, filidoune, SlytherinSeaWitch, Fan, yolle, k and WildvanillaRose! 🥰
> 
> I’ll relay your condolences to Sam! Poor girl’s trying so hard. As for the cliff-hangers … those have been in the family for generations. 😉
> 
> If I do write a sequel, it won’t be directly after this. I’ll definitely need a break from this fic after tomorrow. 😅
> 
> So sorry if you stayed up waiting for this chapter, the internet was messing with me! 😒
> 
> Title: Lady Gaga – The Edge of Glory

In the end, Draco agreed to do it after all, but only because they wouldn’t stop pestering them.

He was going to meet with his _parents_.

“Are you _sure_?” asked Harry for the third time that day, lingering at the door with one hand on the handle. “I don’t mind staying if you want me to.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “What you mean is you don’t mind _arguing_ with my parents.”

“Well, somebody has to tell them – ”

“ _I_ can do it, if it really is necessary.” Draco waved both hands at him in a motion that said _‘go away’_. “Just come back in an hour to check they haven’t kidnapped me.”

Harry pointed a finger at him, but what did Draco expect? He _had_ been practically raised by ghouls, after all. “Not funny.”

“Yes, it is,” said Draco with a grin. “Now go away before they get here.”

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

Draco scoffed. “I’m afraid you’ll embarrass _yourself_. Go.”

Harry showed him one of his less polite fingers and left.

~o~

His parents arrived at three to the minute and Draco was ready.

He sat on the bed fully dressed, feet planted firmly on the ground. He would’ve felt better receiving them standing, but didn’t want to risk the indignity of having to sit back down half-way through their meeting.

Father and Mother didn’t say anything at first, simply giving him a curt nod in greeting. They positioned themselves in front of the door, standing proud and tall before him, an indivisible unit.

Draco had always admired that, knew that was what his parents had wanted for him as well. Now Draco had it, but there was no doubt that his parents didn’t approve. They weren’t here to give him their blessing.

Mother looked him up and down, eyes lingering on Draco’s sweater with the falcon on the front. They didn’t know about his Patronus, but they certainly knew about Harry, and the distaste on her face was palpable.

“Draco,” said his father, his face cold and unreadable. “This has gone on long enough. Whatever you wanted to prove has failed. The time has come to do what’s right.”

“Right?” Draco had never felt so much and so little like laughing at the same time. As if his parents knew anything about that. “What _is_ right?”

“It is our duty to rebuild this family,” Father said gravely. “Continue the bloodline. Renounce what _distracts_ you and be a Malfoy.”

It wasn’t all that hard to guess what that was – Harry, his Muggle and less than Pure-blood friends, actually _working_. In short, anything that made his life worthwhile.

Draco shook his head. “That’s an offer I _can_ refuse.” His parents didn’t understand the hidden meaning, of course, but still it felt good using a Muggle reference on them.

His father looked close to snapping nonetheless and Mother placed a halting hand on his lower arm, taking a tiny step forward so she was now level with Lucius.

“Draco, be sensible. Don’t you see what’s happening?” Her voice was silent but captivating. “Somebody just tried to murder you a second time. It’s all because of _him_.”

“ _He_ almost got killed too,” Draco said, raising his chin in defiance.

“Precisely,” said Narcissa, voice dripping ice water. “People try to end your life because they want to get to Potter _and_ they try to murder you because they don’t want you close to him. Nothing good will come from this.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Draco, feeling immensely tired.

He was sick of having to keep up the façade of distant politeness, having to dress up every word nicely before saying it. He just wanted to tell them what he really felt for once. Harry seldom thought about what he was going to say. He just did it. Not that it was always for the best, but Draco digressed.

“I have pretended to be what you wanted for eighteen years. I can’t pretend anymore! _This_ is how I want to live my life. Not with any woman I could never love. With _him_. With him and all the others.” Draco paused, not for the drama but to brace for what came next. “And if you can’t accept that, then you should just leave.”

“That half-breed blood traitor will be the death of you,” said Lucius, barely concealing his fury.

Draco didn’t avert his eyes. “Then don’t bother coming to the funeral.”

~o~

Harry’s eyes were sparkling with glee. “You did _not_ say that.”

“I was channelling my inner Harry.”

Harry’s grin widened. “God, I wish you’d have let me stay.”

Draco punched his shoulder lightly and handed him another sweater to fold and place in their bag. Draco was rubbish at folding clothes without magic, but Harry actually knew what he was doing. The only problem was that he didn’t _like_ doing it by hand, and needed permanent supervision.

“Then I wouldn’t have gotten to say it. You would probably have gone off the rails as soon as my father finished his speech.”

“I _can_ pull myself together.” Harry sat down on the already made bed and watched Draco check the closet for any items left behind.

“It was about duty and bloodlines.” Draco sat down beside him, cross-legged.

“Nothing new, then.” Harry bumped their shoulders. “I _swear_ I could have managed.”

Something knocked against the window and they both turned to look just in time to see a Chocolate Snitch fluttering away. Those had definitely increased over the last few days. Somebody seemed to have leaked the location of their room. Seeing as they were about to leave, it didn’t really matter, though.

“He also called you a half-breed,” Draco added.

“Yeah, alright … that might have done it.”

Draco smiled to himself and zipped the bag shut. “All packed up. How bad is it?”

Harry stood up and went over to the window, looking out at the obligatory crowd of fans and reporters hoping to catch a glimpse of him. In an instant his posture was rigid, hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t seem to know how to answer the question.

Draco watched him from where he was sitting. “You don’t have to do it, you know? Samantha can’t make us.”

Three additional Chocolate Snitches appeared behind Harry, which probably meant that people had spotted him.

“What else is there?” asked Harry, back still turned.

“We could just leave it behind … just turn our backs on all of _that_ and live in the Muggle world … If that’s what you want.”

Draco could adapt. They would just stick to Muggle places all the time, move country, maybe. Draco could still work at St. Mungo’s. He’d just have to make extra sure that nobody followed him home. The press would dog him at first, but they were bound to give up after a few months if Draco just refused to talk to them.

There was silence for a while. Then Harry shook his head.

“I don’t want to hide away. That’s letting them win.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Draco asked helplessly.

After another minute or so, Harry turned around abruptly and strode over to him, a blazing look in his eyes.

“Draco Malfoy.” Harry held out his hand for him to take. “Will you go to war with me?”

Draco closed his warm hand around Harry’s cold one without a moment’s hesitation.

Draco wished he hadn’t agreed to it the moment they stepped outside.

Samantha had told them that the car would be waiting right at the curb, a mere ten feet from the back entrance, but they just couldn’t see it. Not that they could see the curb either.

There were a good twenty people waiting for them, all of them holding cameras or Quick-Quotes or both. Draco didn’t want to know how many of them had to be standing at the front door.

For about a single second they were the reason Draco couldn’t spot the car, because they were blocking his vision. And then started the flurry of camera flashes, and Draco couldn’t see anything at all.

Draco stopped right on the threshold, overwhelmed and disoriented. But then Harry put an arm around his back and pulled him forward. “Never ever stop, just keep going!” he said firmly, pushing a reporter out of the way with his free hand.

“ _Where?_ ”

Draco really wished they had just taken the Floo. The reporters kept yelling questions, which Draco couldn’t even understand and Harry straight-up ignored.

“Just straight ahead. They’ll have to get out of the way IF THEY WANT THEIR HEADS TO REMAIN NORMAL-SIZED!” Harry directed the last part of his sentence at a particularly bothersome witch, who was blocking their path. She was gone in an instant.

Draco finally caught a glimpse of the car in between flashes. Their Auror was holding open the door for them, glaring at anybody who came too close. Draco guessed that Harry saw it too, because his hold around Draco’s shoulders tightened and he picked up the pace.

And then, suddenly, Harry tripped, and all his weight was on Draco. Draco slung an arm around his waist, hoisted him up as much as he could and only just managed to steer him into the back seat, helped along by the Auror.

Harry only took a second or two to gather himself and make room, but it felt like an hour to Draco, who was taking the full brunt of the reporters’ screams and yells, which had gone up a notch or two when Harry had tripped.

Then, finally, Draco could get into the car, and the Auror slammed the door shut.

Instantly they sat in perfect silence. Not a single word could be heard from the outside. The windows were also dark, shielding them completely. They couldn’t see the front of the car, because it was separated from the back by a screen, but the engine came to life after a second and then they were moving.

“ _Seatbelt_ ,” said Harry tensely. He had already put on his own and was clutching it with both hands.

“Are you alright?” asked Draco as he fastened his own belt.

Harry wasn’t looking that well. His hands were trembling slightly and his lips were pressed together.

Harry nodded. “I just tripped, is all. Too many people, too many feet.”

There was a _BANG_ and a lurch as the car jumped several streets. Harry was starting to look pale.

“I don’t mean because of that,” said Draco. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder for comfort, but it didn’t seem to do much good.

“You’ll think I’ve lost it.” Harry leaned his head back, eyes closed.

“Try me.”

There was silence for a few seconds, then Harry said in a small voice. “I _forgot_. About the car. I’ve been thinking about nothing but the collapse for the last weeks, and I completely forgot about the accident.”

Damn. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah. Well, I definitely remember _now_.”

Draco felt like a complete moron. To be perfectly honest, he had forgotten too. There’d been so much going on, he’d just been relieved he would finally be able to leave St. Mungo’s. He hadn’t thought about the means.

He felt rather strongly that this made him a bad partner.

“We could tell him to stop the car.”

Harry laughed, and it sounded completely wrong. “ _Then_ what? I doubt there’s a Floo anywhere near. Even if there were, how would we get to it without being spotted?”

“He’s an Auror. I’m sure he could disguise us.”

“And what would we tell him? That I’m afraid to sit in a car?” Harry laughed shakily. “I don’t want to read about that in tomorrow’s Prophet.”

“He’s an Auror,” Draco repeated. “I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t do that.”

Harry shook his head, if only just barely. “I can do this. Just distract me.”

“Well,” said Draco, racking his brain. “This is an enchanted car, right? So, we _can’t_ crash. It’s impossible. Everything just bounces out of the way.”

“Talking about _cars_ is not a distraction,” said Harry tensely.

“I’m just saying. There’s _never_ been an accident in wizarding history. Not a single one.”

“ _Draco!_ ”

“Right, fine,” muttered Draco. “So, where will we get all our new kitchen appliances? I rather liked that one Muggle shop, you know?”

Harry scoffed feebly. “You _hated_ it. You wanted to leave after about three minutes.”

Draco did his best to assume his most self-assured voice. “Because you behaved like someone who belongs in a mental institution.”

“I’ll probably behave exactly like that again,” Harry said. “Full disclosure.”

“Obviously. But at least it will be justified this time.”

Harry opened one eye so he could squint at Draco. “So, what you’re saying is that you’ll let me buy the pasta machine?”

“I’ll even let you buy the _pressure cooker_ ,” said Draco generously, and then, under his breath: “As if I could stop you.”

Harry gave him a soft smile that vanished the instant the car did another jump. Draco thought he could hear a feeble groan underline the _BANG_. Then the door swung open on Harry’s side and he was out in an instant. Draco didn’t linger either.

There was a shriek and then a lot of bushy hair in Draco’s face as somebody (who could only be Hermione) threw her arms around him and Harry at the same time. Draco nearly had a heart attack, but Harry didn’t seem as surprised. He was already patting her back.

“Hermione, you only _just_ saw us yesterday.”

“I know, I know,” she said excitedly. “But this is the first time I’ve seen you both wearing proper trousers in a month.”

And then she finally let go, so all the others could welcome them home as well. Only after about ten minutes did Draco get a chance to have a proper look at the house Samantha had found for them.

It was a regular townhouse with a small front lawn and a bigger one at the back of the house, and when he entered that one through the house, he was instantly pushed over by Aurelius, who had been waiting there and jumped into his arms the moment he saw him. Then he squirmed free and went wild, apparently entirely undecided whether he wanted to lick Draco’s face or sniff his chest or let Draco pet him.

That was the best part about it all, though the barbecue party their friends threw in their honour was a bit of all right as well.

It probably would’ve gone on for a few more hours if Draco hadn’t fallen asleep in his chair at what he later had to admit was approximately noon.

Well, it _was_ winter. Dusk fell early. Right? Who even had barbecues in winter?

~o~

That evening, Draco was sitting at their new small and round kitchen table, watching the picture in front of him loop for easily the tenth time.

His head snapped up when Harry entered the room, trying to tame his hair with both hands. His prolonged stay at Mungo’s with its harsh cleaning spells had really done a number on it.

Draco fixed him with a serious look. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

Harry was still for a second and then snatched the Evening Prophet (of course it had been made breaking news) away from him with an annoyed look. “I thought you didn’t read that rubbish?”

Draco shook his head slowly. “I _didn’t_ even read it; I just looked at the picture.”

“That picture makes it look much worse than it is,” said Harry firmly, not even looking at it. “ _Was._ ”

He threw the Prophet into the sink for emphasis. Then he pointed his wand at it and the Prophet went up in flames.

Draco couldn’t have stopped his eyes from rolling even if he had wanted to. Which he didn’t. “You know I’m a _Healer_ , right?”

If Harry didn’t want to look defensive, he shouldn’t have crossed his arms at that point. “So?”

“So,” said Draco pointedly, “I looked at you falling this morning. You didn’t just trip and you bloody well _know_ it. Your leg gave out. What’s wrong with it?”

Harry went over to the counter to vanish the remnants of the paper and only turned back to face him after a good minute had gone by. For a moment, Draco thought he would flat out refuse, but then Harry’s shoulders dropped considerably. He pulled himself up on the counter top with a sigh and let his legs dangle.

“Okay, here goes.” Harry breathed in, pushed some stray hair out of his face and pulled the right leg of his joggers up, revealing a massive amount of scar tissue around the knee.

Draco took a shuddering breath. He felt quite ill.

“So, my leg’s fucked up.”

“No kidding.” Acutely aware that his voice sounded strangely flat, Draco drew his wand and came over to have a closer look. It was even worse up close, all rough and twisted, and it took a second of self-persuasion before he dared touch it. “Does that hurt?”

Harry shook his head. He was watching Draco very closely. Draco ran his fingertips over his knee, scar tissue and healthy skin alike, so Harry couldn’t get it into his head that Draco was repulsed by him.

“I just can’t bend it all the way anymore. And sometimes I lose all feeling from the knee down, which is really fucking annoying.”

“It’s not cursed, is it?” asked Draco, even as he was casting his spell, muttering under his breath as he studied the results, “No, there’s no trace of dark magic. Trauma?”

“You know how Matt – Greyson, I mean – God, it feels wrong to call him Matt. Well, he got impaled on a steel beam. Another one of those landed on my leg. Smashed it to pieces, they say. It’s a miracle that they managed to mend it as well as they did, really. Hermione said they were on the verge of taking it off. Anyway, this is as good as it’s ever gonna get.”

“But …” Draco had trouble voicing the terrible thought that had just popped into his head.

“Yeah, I know.” There was no anger in Harry’s voice. Only resignation.

“You won’t be able to play.”

“No.”

Draco took both of Harry’s hands into his own and held them close to his heart. There weren’t really any words to express how deeply sorry he was that now Harry’s dream was shattered, and after a mere six years too.

It wasn’t fair.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco and then shoved at his chest in an apparent attempt at lightening the mood. “Didn’t want to burden you any more than you already were.” 

“I could’ve started researching a week ago!”

Harry scoffed. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. This injury is over a month old, Draco. You know just as well as I do – because they told me _repeatedly_ – that speed is key with trauma. Do you really think you’re such a prodigy that you could still fix this?”

Draco pressed his lips together and let go of Harry’s hand, shrugging vaguely in response.

He knew that Harry was right – it was much too late now, if there ever even had been a chance at all. It just hurt to face the fact that he couldn’t help the person he loved most.

Two hands were placed at Draco’s face and then Harry was smiling at him. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. I promise we’ll be fine.”

Draco smiled back, though he could tell that it would look weak. “When did you become so optimistic?”

“The worst has already happened to us, right? Everything after that can’t be that bad. And I know you’ll look after me as I will look after you until we both drop dead ... You know, if it turns out we are mortal after all.”

Draco snorted and kissed his lightning bolt scar softly. “Not entirely sure about that anymore, are you?”

Harry cracked his knuckles in a mock-menacing gesture. “I’d like to see the moron who tries to take you from me.”

How could Draco not believe him?


	90. Everything the Light Touches (is Ours) [Saturday, July 31st 2010]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last time with feeling. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR COMMENTING: adventurous_potato, WildvanillaRose, Justforthedead, Slytherinz_Ghost, SimplySomeone, ulysses_the_bird, big3, ThatBoringOne, Mystical.Moose, deviantgumiho, gimger_bred, EmmaGraceWinchester, SlytherinSeaWitch, IzzyShep, serilla, Rionaa, Superfan1224, AcadianProud, Speedy_Typhoon, kylorrren, allhailthehales, Grace Kudla, Fan, filidoune, Zezily, SHkatty, SHkatty, Emmarosebat and Anonymous! 😘
> 
> First of all: thanks to everybody who had something nice to say about this fic. 😊 You really made this whole experience so special, and I’m more than a little bit sad that it’s over now. Every single day for over two months, I’ve had so many nice comments to wake up to and brighten my day and I’m not quite sure yet how I’m going to cope without them.
> 
> Over the course of the last two months, you guys left 1,116 kudos, subscribed 438 times and left 1,583 comments. And every single one of these meant the world to me! 🤗
> 
> And while I’m sad that this is it now, I’m also really, really relieved! After working on this thing for two years, you can’t believe how anxious it made me to have it only partially posted. I kept imagining all the horrible things that could happen and then it would never be finished. This might sound cheesy now, but it feels good to have created something that people can enjoy no matter what happens next! 😄
> 
> Also, no need to worry, I’m not depressed, that’s just anxiety! I used to worry that I’d die before all of the HP books were published and then I’d never find out what happens! Not gonna lie, I totally made my mum promise she’d read them to me if I should ever be in a coma. 😅
> 
> Alright, enough about me, let’s get back to better things. 😊 I hope you’re happy with the ending our boys got!
> 
> Title: [SEBELL] – Lion (and also the Lion King, I guess)

“I’ll do you and you’ll do me.”

Draco nearly dropped his wand, which he had been using to polish the chandelier that cast the upstairs sitting room at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place into flickering light.

“Potter! Do you _want_ Kreacher to suffer a heart attack?”

Harry rolled his eyes but still looked over his shoulder to make sure that Kreacher wasn’t lurking. “Sirius’ mother did it plenty of times. He probably loved it.”

Draco took a deep breath and turned his back on Harry very deliberately. “Merlin give me strength. We can’t just _do_ it.”

“You were the one who suggested it in the first place! New Year’s Eve 2008. You said we could probably get it done in under a minute. Kreacher wouldn’t have to know.”

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Somehow, he managed to make it suggestive.

“Oh _please_ ,” Draco scoffed.

He crossed the room until he stood directly in front of the ancient tapestry depicting the Black family tree. The threads portraying his great-aunt Walburga were flawless and vibrant – Kreacher had clearly gone to great lengths to preserve them.

Harry took a second to unwind Emerald from his neck and place her on an empty couch, before saying, “I’ll just send him on a last-minute errand for the party and we could do it right now.”

“Kreacher would know instantly and you know it. He knows everything that happens in this house.”

“Fine,” said Harry, joining him in front of the tapestry. “I’ll just take care of myself then and you can see how you like it when you’re left on there all on your own.”

Draco snatched Harry’s wand the moment he lifted it. “Don’t you dare!”

Harry raised his eyebrows at him, a move Draco was certain he had picked up from him at some point. “I probably could do it without my wand, you know? Want to test what remains of the tapestry if I try?”

Draco shook his head, holding on to Harry’s wand regardless. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why?” Harry turned to look at him instead of the tapestry. “You’re the one who’s been glaring at that bloody thing for the last four years.”

“Still –”

“You hate it, you say so at least three times a week.”

“I _know_ …” Draco sucked in his bottom lip to chew on it. Why did he have to complain about that bloody thing so much?

“But?”

“That was before.”

Harry shook his head. “Before what? Before we decided to move here after all?”

“Before there was something on there that I liked.”

Draco raised his free hand and ran his fingertips over the delicate golden line connecting Draco Lucius Malfoy to Harry James Potter.

He generally tried to ignore the golden threads that connected him to anybody else – like his parents.

Maybe he _should_ have taken Harry’s name after all.

But he’d still felt, at the time, that maybe his parents _could_ learn to accept him. That maybe they’d realise this wasn’t just a phase that they could pressure him out of.

All hopes of that ever happening had gone out the window when his parents’ second child had been born almost exactly one year after news of the Potter-Malfoy wedding had broken (which had taken the Prophet a whole week, impressively enough).

Scorpius Malfoy was the sole heir to the Malfoy bloodline and a clear sign that his parents had given up on Draco for good.

Harry exhaled noisily. “Is it too late to get a divorce?”

“Yes,” Draco said pointedly, spreading out his fingers so they were covering both of their likenesses. Just to be sure that Harry wouldn’t try anything funny.

“So, what you’re saying is that if I hadn’t married you, you’d have let me blow this thing up?”

“But you _did_ marry me.”

“Worst mistake of my life,” said Harry.

He wasn’t even trying to sound sincere, which arguably would’ve been entirely impossible anyway, because he was grinning like lunatic as he took Draco’s hand in his own and pulled it away from the tapestry to turn him around so they were facing each other.

“I promise not to blow you up –”

“Should’ve put that in your vows,” Draco said with a grin of his own.

“– even though you _are_ the worst disappointment in all of the Blacks’ history.”

Draco gripped the hair at Harry’s neck. Since Harry was still holding on to his left hand, Draco had to let go of both their wands to do it, but it was worth it to hear Harry’s startled yelp as Draco pushed him against the tapestry.

Their lips brushed for a fraction of a second and then Harry was gone, dragging Draco down with a hand on his shoulder. They landed on their knees with twin _thuds,_ knocking heads in the process.

Draco rubbed his forehead and Harry clutched his traitorous leg, glaring down at it. “Typical. Just when I was about to get some. You just _had_ to ruin it, didn’t you?”

“I’d be more worried about your head.” Draco made a whistling sound to voice his suspicion that Harry wasn’t all there. He brushed some of Harry’s hair out of his face to have a look at his forehead, which was really just an excuse to touch his stupidly soft hair. “But please let me know if your leg does deign to answer you.”

Harry rolled his eyes but let go of his leg so he could place both of his hands on Draco’s shoulder and arm. They met in the middle, but the kiss wasn’t as urgent as it would’ve been if they hadn’t been interrupted by Harry’s fucked-up leg.

Draco didn’t mind. He loved this just as much. Sometimes even more.

~o~

“Happy birthday, Draco!”

Olivia grabbed both his arms and dragged him down to her level so she could hug him. Draco hugged her back and kissed her cheek before she could do the same to him. The red lipstick she had worn to his _actual_ birthday last month had only come off when he’d excused himself to go to the bathroom and used magic.

Olivia laughed and then handed him the gift-wrapped package that was sitting in her lap. Lauren embraced him next and then followed after Olivia, who was already making her way over to the sitting room.

As usual, none of them so much as glanced towards the staircase, acting instead as if it were invisible. Which it practically was for their Muggle friends.

As soon as they were out of view, there were two shouts of “Harry!”.

Draco went into the sitting room to see Harry get smothered in a three-way hug starring himself and the girls. It certainly looked uncomfortable, because he had to stand hunched over to be able to reach Olivia, and then there was Lauren, practically leaning on his back.

Draco wasn’t at all surprised when Harry’s leg gave out for the second time that day, and then he was just hanging there in the air, supported by Lauren’s arms around his chest.

Olivia was laughing lightly even as everybody nearby got up to support Harry, and then he was falling back into an empty armchair and laughing too.

Draco helped Olivia stand up from her wheelchair and walk over to the nearest couch, where Aurelius was already waiting for her, wagging his tail excitedly.

Then Draco sat down on Harry’s arm rest, bumping shoulders. “You definitely set yourself up for failure there.”

Harry elbowed him in the ribs in retaliation and grinned up at him. “You know what? I think having two birthdays is making you cocky. Even more than before, I mean.”

“You are more than welcome to take it back.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t go that far.” Harry slung an arm around Draco’s waist and pulled him so that they were both squeezed together in the armchair. Then he pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll just have to keep you down to earth some other way.”

Ella leaned into the conversation before Draco could find out how Harry planned to do that. “So, how are the kids doing?”

Harry’s face lit up like a fairy tree. Draco, who knew how much gesturing was involved in Harry’s praise for his kids, took his glass of whisky from him and placed it on the table.

“Camp started on Monday. We actually had to split them up into four groups, there are so many sign-ups. A few of them are my students from boarding school, but mostly others – some children under eleven and some older children from _different_ schools all over Europe. It’s going to be great!”

“He’s been working on his training schedule ever since the school year ended,” Draco said.

For the millionth time that week, he was glad that he had switched from Trauma to Curses two years prior. It was only a matter of time before the first campers got injured, and he’d rather Courtney and Tabitha dealt with _that_.

“The poor little bastards will be dead on their feet by tomorrow evening,” he added gleefully.

“Draco!” Hermione sounded scandalised. “Don’t call them _bastards_!”

“Why not? I’m neither a parent nor a teacher.”

“You’re talking about Harry’s students. You should support him.”

“Well,” said Harry, taking back his glass. “Some of them _are_ bastards.”

Then he downed the rest of his whisky, as if he could distract from what he’d said.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air. “You’re a _teacher_ , Harry! You can’t talk about them like that.”

Harry just laughed. “I’m not a real teacher, Hermione. Just an instructor. Besides, you should’ve seen the final match of the last season. Badgers against Eagles. Tessa Hopkins fouled the _shit_ out of that game. It was brutal. And then she smiled at me all sweetly, like she couldn’t hurt a fly. _Three_ Puffs had to spend the night at the hospital wing.”

“What position is she playing?” asked Callum, who probably had the most football knowledge out of all of them, although Draco wasn’t _all_ that unknowing anymore either.

They’d decided a few years ago that they probably should know at least the basics if they wanted to keep their Muggle friends close. Draco even kind of liked going to sports bars with the Muggles, though the sport itself really was laughable.

Harry grimaced and threw his hands up in frustration, like he very much wanted to strangle Hopkins retroactively. “She’s a Striker.” Which meant that she was a Chaser. “And she’s not even a _legacy_! First generation.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Draco leaned away so he could frown at Harry. “Are you implying that legacies are more likely to cheat?”

“What’s a legacy?” asked Ella, who was sandwiched between Callum and Ginny on what was apparently Draco and Harry’s Best Couch. He wasn’t sure how they’d decided it, because there was no TV that could serve as a focal point.

“Students with at least one parent who went to the same school,” said Draco. Then he turned to face Harry again. “ _So?_ ”

“Speaking as a legacy _myself_ ,” said Harry pointedly, “We are more likely to try and prove that we can live up to our parents’ examples or expectations. First generations are usually more relaxed.”

“Hmm,” made Hermione. “ _I_ definitely felt like I had to prove that I could keep up with the legacies. Academically, of course.”

Several people actually laughed at that; it was just that bizarre.

“ _Keep up?_ ” said Ron, clearly mocking her. “You left us in the dust. Brightest witch of our age, and they haven’t had one as good as you since, according to McGonagall.”

“Did you just call your wife a _witch_?” asked Lauren. “The _mother_ of both your children?”

“It’s the only explanation!” said Ron smoothly, pointing a finger at Hermione. He really had gotten better. “Nobody’s _that_ good.”

“You tell yourself that, Ronald.”

“Time for presents!” announced Olivia cheerfully and then everybody was handing over their packets to Draco.

Draco started with the one he was still holding and unwrapped a black apron with a white cartoon pirate on the front and the words _‘Captain Cook’_ underneath. Harry laughed and took it from him to hold it up so everybody could see.

“Maybe I’ll let you borrow that sometimes,” Draco said, barely containing his grin. “Since you set fire to yours last month.”

“Oh _noooo_ ,” said Olivia dramatically, displaying her non-existent acting abilities. “Don’t tell me we misremembered and _Harry_ needs a new one? Shame.”

Lauren sighed deeply. “Maybe we’ll _finally_ get it right next year. It would be really embarrassing if it happened a fifth time.”

“Though I wouldn’t count on it,” said Olivia sagely. “Our brains are _very_ scattered.”

And Harry laughed and put the apron on while Draco unwrapped all his other presents, including a guide book on how to effectively teach adolescent athletes and a Weasley sweater with the Hogwarts crest on the front.

~o~

Here’s what wasn’t exactly right with their lives:

The Black house still was warded to kingdom come. They had only moved there half a year ago, a few months after Yaxley had died in Azkaban.

But they weren’t holed up in there anymore. Their friends visited, and since they had purged the ground floor of everything that was obviously magic, and made it accessible for Olivia two months ago, even the Muggles were welcome.

Harry still had his system, a place for everything, but Draco had learned to live with it and rarely misplaced things nowadays.

At least it was never messy at home, and that was certainly a good thing. He liked knowing that, no matter how chaotic things got at the Curses Ward, there was a firm, unshakeable structure at home.

Pig was the only owl that could enter the house now. Everything else was redirected to Samantha, who personally delivered their post once a day.

If their friends wanted to reach them, they used notepads with Protean charms on them, which was something Draco liked very much. It felt just like owning a mobile phone. Draco also had one of _those_ now and he called Olivia almost daily to talk about her progress with physical therapy, which was going slowly but steadily, and about her wheelchair yoga class.

It really was incredible how she could retain her upbeat attitude through all of it, though Draco guessed that it helped that she didn’t remember anything about the accident and the official cause was now a burst tire and not a wrong split-second decision on her end.

They mostly kept out of the Wizarding world. On the rare occasions that they went out in Wizarding public, some people still stared like they were witnessing some great corruption.

But Harry didn’t insist on Polyjuice or glamours or his Cloak anymore, and the looks were getting fewer and fewer with every year going by, with every event they attended, looking just as in love as they had been five years ago. Maybe someday those looks would cease completely.

Harry still did his three jumps when he Disapparated from unsafe locations. But honestly? Given what had happened, Draco thought that was reasonable. So much so, that he had started doing it himself.

All those things made them look paranoid. Draco was aware of the fact. He just didn’t _care_ anymore. If these things enabled them to fall asleep at night, if that meant that they could relax and actually _live_ , then Draco would take it gladly. They were living in the light part of their lives, and the secret was not to give the darkness too much power.

The barrier keeping Harry’s magic from bursting forth was still thin, but he had himself under control most of the time, now that he wasn’t injured all the time and generally slept soundly.

They still had nightmares sometimes, but those weren’t all that bad anymore. Harry’s last curse scar hadn’t survived the car accident and Draco’s had all been removed the night of the collapse. Yes, sometimes Draco would wake up in the middle of the night and check to see if Harry was still breathing. But so far, Harry hadn’t let him down.

Harry’s professional Quidditch career was over, but that was alright too. He could still fly as much as he wanted, wearing a full gear of charmed clothes and using one of Blaise’s newest brooms, which were custom designed to substitute lost motor functions. They would never be approved for regular league matches, but Blaise and Harry were working together again and it seemed like there was a new Para-Quidditch league in the making.

And if there was one thing Harry didn’t seem to be missing, it was the attention he got from being a Falcon. He was content with his post as Quidditch instructor at Hogwarts and his summer camp, where participants were usually much more interested in his Quidditch knowledge than his person, and his former team mates (all of whom were still playing) visited regularly.

And, because Harry did _many_ things out of a guilty conscience and shared traumatic experiences, he even got along with Felicity now. Well, sort of. Draco certainly wasn’t expecting any dinner invitations from her any time soon. But then again, there was never a shortage of evening entertainment anyway.

Teddy, Rose and Hugo had sleepovers every Friday. Then there was Saturday Pub Night with the Muggles, Sunday Lunch at the Weasleys, Wednesday Dinner with the Zabinis, the occasional tea with Mrs. Capitelli and her girls and, of course, a fuck-ton of birthdays and holidays.

Life wasn’t perfect, nor was it always easy. But it was theirs and they were happy the way it was.

And that’s what was right with their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for going on this journey with me. I had a lot of fun and I hope you did too. 😊
> 
> If you’re going to re-read, I’d like to ask you not to point out foreshadowing for later events in earlier chapters. 😊 It would be nice if new readers could enjoy all of this without danger of getting spoiled in the comment section. You’re of course more than welcome to comment on foreshadowed events when they finally happen. 😉 I’m really curious to see what you guys pick up on!
> 
> If you’d like to read more of my work, please consider subscribing to me. I’ve got a whole lot of ideas and two one-shots in progress right now (they're independent from this story though). I’m estimating that one of them will be uploaded sometime in June.
> 
> If you have another moment, I’d really like to know what you liked best about this story (for research purposes 😉). All in all: THANK YOU SO MUCH! 😘
> 
> ✋🏻 September 2020: I am planning to slim this fic down by a couple thousand words and am looking for a beta to tell me which parts felt irrelevant and to discuss which parts could be cut without hurting the story! If you are interested, please leave a comment so I can get in contact with you. 🤚🏻

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Where The Falcons Fly [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825166) by [Rionaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rionaa/pseuds/Rionaa)




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